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There’s a little fella,’ says I to myself, ‘an ichi-ban mascot 



SHORTY 
PAT RICK 

U. S.S. OKLAHOMA 

By STEPHEN FRENCH 
WHITMAN * • Author of 

Predestined, and Other Stories 



Illustrations by F. C. Yohn 


Publishers, P. F. Collier & Son, New York 




C Cl, A 2 7 8 4 3 8 


CONTENTS 


i 

Sailormen 7 

II 

“ Papeeyon ” 40 

III 

The Ichi-Ban Mascot 67 

IV 

Picture-Gallery George 91 

V 

The Big One 118 

VI 

The Mysterious Houris 144 


[3] 



List of Illustrations 


There’s a little fella/ says I to myself, * an ichi-ban 
mascot.’ ” — Frontispiece. 


“ Slidin’ after me over the cobbles, sittin’ down and 
actin’ very reluctant.” — 79 

“All over his chest was the saddest-lookin’ sketch I 
ever saw.” — 107 - 

“ He never hesitated there to pick anythin’ for his button- 
hole. He went right on through.” — 143 

“ Gapin’ at us horror-struck were four tremendous 
dames.” — 164 


[5] 


SHORTY & PATRICK 


i 


SAILORMEN 



OUNTLESS fugitives from the city’s heat 


V_>4 bore me, as a tide bears a chip, into that 
garish wonderland. Beneath arc-lights, we 
drifted past booths of fortune-tellers, screened 
cages of “wild men from Borneo,” platforms of 
pseudo-Oriental dancing girls. In our ears 
sounded the cries of showmen, the whine of car- 
ousel pipe-organs, discords from jangling piano 
strings, shrill choruses drifting out of music- 
halls, the peanut oven’s incessant whistle. To- 
gether those noises made the music we had come 
to hear: they were the song of Coney Island. 


[73 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

A salient racket attracted us: we saw the 
father of all carousels revolving. Round its rim 
charged a cavalcade of varnished monsters; 
these, proud young men and shrieking maidens 
rode, to the snorts and squeals of “rag-time” 
blown from metal organ pipes by steam. 
Through this shindy penetrated, from time to 
time, a song, crescendo and diminuendo , as a 
gilded chariot, drawn seemingly by two apoca- 
lyptic beasts, whirled into sight on one side and, 
in a flash, out of sight on the other. 

In this chariot sat two sailormen in blue, — a 
big man and a little one. Their arms were en- 
twined; their heads were together and their 
flat, round hats knocked slantwise; their legs 
were cocked up on the gilded dashboard. One 
was singing; and in that commonplace play- 
ground I heard : 

“The Water Clock’s in gay Paree; the City 
Wall’s in Rome; 

The Jap, he’s packed the Summer Palace up 
an’ shipped it home; 

The Russian, an’ the Prussian, an’ the British 
grenadier, — 

It’s plain that they’ve got theirs : but what do 
I get, Captain dear? 

[ 8 ] 


SAILORMEN 


“For — 

You ain’t to loot, the Captain says, 

You ain’t to loot, the Captain says, 

You ain’t to loot, the Captain sa — a — a — ys; 
It’s nowhere ladylike.” 

The varnished monsters glided finally to a 
standstill. The music machine, blowing for- 
tissimo through all its pipes, stopped with a 
last explosion. The big man and the little one 
issued down upon firm ground. They found 
me directly in their way. 

“Good evening. Did you ever see a water 
clock in Peking?” 

The big man — seaman gunner, by the white 
bursting shell embroidered on his sleeve — re- 
garded me gravely and without surprise. 

“Faith,” he replied, suddenly, “I never did, 
to reco’nize it. Ask Shorty here. He made the 
poethry. If that was what you heard.” 

The little man stepped round from behind his 
friend. With an expression of anxiety almost 
too intense, he asked: 

“Fond of it, sir?” 

“By all means. But about the water clock in 
Peking. Or was it Tien-tsin, or T’ung Chou? 
At any rate, you didn’t get the chance to loot 

[9] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 


Canton. And that’s where the water clock 
stands, isn’t it?” 

Shorty inspected me with interest. 

“Take the money,” he said. “That’s the fact. 
In Canton it was, when we were lyin’ off 
Shameen Island in that rotten little monitor 
the Appalachicola. I remember now; for I 
gave an argument to the Chink who played nurse 
to that water clock about which was right, the 
clock or the ship’s bells. You’ve seen it? Up 
two flights o’ stairs on a platform, recollect? 
Say, I took those stairs without touchin’.” 

Prospective patrons of the varnished steeds, 
surging round us, threw us into one another’s 
arms. I seized them both, as one seizes instinc- 
tively two endangered treasures. 

saw a big, comfortable, wet-looking place 
back there,” I hinted. 

Shorty besought me, earnestly: 

“Say nothin’ more.” 

We squeezed through a stifling press: of 
young men exuding rank tobacco smoke, of 
harassed mothers with their back hair tumbling 
down and infants slung across their shoulders, 
of young girls giggling beneath big hats, of chil- 
dren lost underfoot among the peanut shells. 
Finally we arrived in a large music-hall. On 
[ro] 


SAILORMEN 

a stage, at the far end of the place, a half-moon 
of persons in outrageous costume sang and 
danced languidly. We sat down at a table. 

The seaman gunner lighted a leathery cigar. 
Shorty produced a book of cigarette papers and 
a muslin pouch of flake tobacco. Smoking, they 
inspected the half-moon performers: I, with 
the satisfaction and the pride of a discoverer, 
inspected them. 

They were lean, well-made, healthy-looking 
young men, their wide collars rolled back from 
their brown necks, their trousers trimly laced 
about their slender hips. They wore their round 
hats jauntily: “U. S. S. Oklahoma” was printed 
in gilt letters on the hat ribbon of each. The big 
one’s sandy, Celtic features were almost melan- 
choly despite the screeching chorus. The little 
one, however, by his twinkling eye, appreciated 
the raw horror of the half-moon and rejoiced 
in it maliciously. 

“Where did you get your Frenchman and Jap 
and British grenadier?” I asked him. 

“Tien-Tsin,” he answered, without hesita- 
tion. “Up from Taku comes yours truly, after 
the bombardment, in a jiggin’, bristlin’ box-car 
— where there were tracks left — an’ slam into 
bunches o’ trouble. Fifteen thousand Chinks 

no 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

sittin’ round the Foreign Settlement in a ring, 
usin’ magazine rifles on us. But when we butted 
into the city at len’th, an’ had everythin’ our 
own way, .all you could hear was those aban- 
doned soldiers wishin’ their clothes were all 
pockets. Take my oath, sittin’ alongside the 
Tien-tsin road, one afternoon, this is what I see, 
paradin’ past, in five minutes. First, a German 
infantryman wearin’ two fur jackets out of a 
pawn-shop an’ carryin’ his helmet full o’ bric-a- 
brac. Second, a British lieutenant herdin’ half 
a dozen Sikh lancers loaded down with carved 
ivory junk. Third, a Russian jinglin’ most in- 
decent with jade jewelry an’ trailin’ a fathom 
o’ pink embroidery, like. An’ four, a guy from 
Illinoise wheelin’ a T. P. G. wheelbarrow. 
What you got in the wheelbarrow?’ I asked 
him. He picks out a fistful an’ slings it at me. 
Say, were you ever hit over the head with a 
fistful o’ Mexican dollars?’ ” 

“Chop it!” interrupted the seaman-gunner 
severely. “Facts is what’s wanted here, — naked, 
undecorathed facts.” 

“You weren’t there, that’s why.” 

“What’s a T. P. G. wheelbarrow?” I asked. 
“Tien-tsin Provisional Government. My re- 
spects, sir, an’ here’s wishin’ you all that’s 
[ 12 ] 


SAILORMEN 

proper. Then I get up, bein’ rested, an’ gather 
in my Mexicans, an’ go into camp by the Ninth 
Infantry, where the ships’ batches hung out. 
An’, gettin’ through the mule lines, a large, 
solemn mule ups an’ kicks me one in the small 
o’ the back — so to speak — an’ breaks a big jade 
tablet stowed away there, that I wouldn’t ’a’ lost 
for anythin’. ‘Oho!’ says an infantry captain, 
cornin’ up an’ watchin’ the small pieces trickle 
out around my shoes. ‘Oho!’ says he, ‘the mule 
is a moral animal.’ ” 

“But wait a minute. How did you come to 
be in Tien-tsin? That was a marines’ job, wasn’t 
it?” 

“Sure,” cried the seaman-gunner, indignantly. 
“An’ barrin’ that, how annyway? In Nineteen- 
one you were thransferred aboard the Okla- 
homa off the Appalachicola. An’ where was the 
Appalachicola when Taku was taken? An’, by 
the same token, where were you? Sittin’ in your 
undershirt on a three-inch freeboard off the 
peaceful city o’ Canton, my fascinated an’ well- 
beloved hearer.” 

Shorty winked at his companion, glanced at 
me, and grinned sheepishly. 

“It’s a good story though. You’ve been steal- 
ing local color from some one. You’ve literary 

[13] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

talents about you. I believe you did make that 
song.” 

“That he made,” remarked the seaman-gun- 
ner. “You see, every man to his forte , like. I 
can sling eight hundred an’ fifty pounds o’ steel 
through a canvas patch at a couple o’ miles anny 
mornin’, an’ Shorty here can make Tug’ rhyme 
wid ‘bug’ entirely. It’s very well indeed to 
have a poet aboard, at that. Like when that 
paymasther — he’s gone now — started to reform 
the chow, the grub, you know, cornin’ home 
from the East. An’ Shorty wrote a poem about 
it, an’ plasthered it on the gundeck scuttle- 
butt—” 

“It was entitled,” from Shorty, taking heart, 
“it was entitled ‘The Belly-robber.’ Is that you, 
waiter? How dast you come cringin’ round 
here after that pitiful glass o’ lather you had the 
face to serve me? Don’t press me, Sir. . . . 
Well, then . . 

“Four years ago you changed ships,” I sug- 
gested. “Then you just caught the Oklahoma 
back from the East. But how — ” 

“Did I get my transfer? Canton River did 
for me, an’ that sweetscented health resort they 
named it after. I was flat on my back — to my 
last gasp, you might as well say — when the Ol’ 

[h] 


SAILORMEN 

Man on the Appalachicola tells the Doc, The 
battleship Oklahoma’s homeward bound before 
long; we’ll take a chance, i— at least, we’ll let him 
die in a man’s size sick-bay.’ An’ he sends to 
the Admiral for my transfer. So, subsequently, 
I went aboard the Oklahoma feet last, while 
she was takin’ on Hongkong coal. Wouldn’t 
any one be daffy with joy at gettin’ loose from 
a sea-goin’ Turkish bath afloat on a meanderin’ 
sewer? I was, with what stren’th I had, till I 
saw what I’d got for company. This is one 
of ’em. Tell him about your conversation with 
the Kaiser, Patrick.” Shorty, behind his hand, 
here twisted his face, for my benefit, in the most 
ghastly manner, and finished with a look of cyni- 
cal anticipation. 

Patrick frowned at his cigar-end. 

“It’s nothin’ to tell. We were at Kiel, that 
year, for the races, an’ the Kaiser boarded us. 
An’ us, consequently, froze neatly in line just 
for’d o’ the marines, an’ the band wailin’ out the 
German national anthem most luxurious. An’ 
presently, out o’ the tail o’ my eye, I see him 
cornin’ along the deck, wid Ould Particular — 
meanin’ the Skipper — an’ the Admiral, an’ the 
First Luff, an’ sundry Dutchmen covered wid 
medals an’ buttons an’ aiguillettes. A good- 

[15] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

lookin’ man was the Kaiser, wid a long nose, a 
thremendous mustache, a brown face, an’ one 
hand behind his back. An’ he looks everyone 
in the eye, as much as to say, ‘An’ who the jump- 
in’ blazes do you think you are?’ An’ he comes 
to me, you see, an’ he looks me in the eye, an’ 
I look him in the eye, an’ he stops up ! An’ Ould 
Particular says — it was in the days, remember, 
when a turret crew was the whole thing in gun- 
firin’ — ‘There’s the gun-pointer,’ says Ould Par- 
ticular, ‘by all rights, who holds the great-guns 
record just now.’ An’ the Kaiser, he says as 
plain as you or me, peerin’ up very fierce, 
‘You’re a good sailorman,’ says he, in just those 
words.” 

“Ha, ha! An’ what did you say, Patrick?” 

“Faith, it took me all of a sudden! An’ the 
rest standin’ tight an’ keepin’ in their wind till 
you could ’a’ heard your hair growin’. An’, 
bein’ caught so, I says — what I could ’a’ been 
thinkin’ of I don’t know — ‘The same to you, 
your Riverince,’ I says, ‘an’ manny of them.’ ” 

Shorty, doubling over, emitted gurgles of de- 
light. 

“Wow! Yowie! May I hope to die!” 

“I was never laid tongue to for it,” retorted 
Patrick, calmly, “Which is more than you could 

[16] 


SAILORMEN 

say, you little shrimp, afther you fetched the 
Homeward Bound in Yokohama. Tell him 
that one, if you have the gall.” 

The other, ostensibly for the purpose of clean- 
ing out his pipe, rapped noisily with the briar- 
wood bowl upon the table. At the waiter’s in- 
stantaneous appearance, Shorty seemed almost 
extravagantly surprised. 

“Properly told,” he warned me, after certain 
ceremonies, “it’s a long one. It begins off Yoko- 
hama Bund, an’ it ends up by the Brooklyn cob- 
dock. But it’s a straight one, this time.” 

He gazed upward reminiscently. A smile 
glimmered on his face. 

“Look what a change o’ climate did for me, 
now! I remember hearin’ the surgeon on the 
Appalachicola talkin’ to the Ol’ Man, by the 
for’d turret, outside the sick-bay ports, where I 
was lyin’. The ports were open, to let in a luke- 
warm, muddy, fishy, little Canton breeze. 

“ ‘What chance has he? ’ says the Ol’ Man. 

“ ‘Give him a month more hereabouts,’ says 
the surgeon, quite cheerful, ‘an’ I will lay my 
pay to yours, sir, that he has not enough insides 
left to make one respectable set o’*gitter strings.’ 

“That was me, Shorty, seaman o’ the jolly 
monitor Appalachicola . An’ yet, a month after 

[17] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

my transfer, the Oklahoma sticks her nose out 
o’ the Yallow Sea, an’ we get a clean breeze. 
That very day — ” 

“That very day,” interrupted Patrick, “I was 
afther holdin’ converse wid a friend, for’d on 
the berth deck, beside the marines’ rifle racks, 
by the sick-bay dure. An’, whilst I was so, out 
o’ the sick-bay dure an’ in amongst the racks 
rolls this Shorty here, an’ Pills — the apothe- 
cary’s assistant — over an’ over, mixed up wid 
belts an’ bayonets an’ rolls of absorbent cotton, 
an’ Lord knows what. ’Twas the mercy o’ 
Hiven that no one saw it. ‘Save us,’ says I, 
takin’ a look. ‘Isn’t that the near-dead man we 
had aboard at Hongkong? ’ ” 

“The trouble was,” from Shorty, grown im- 
patient, “The trouble was, in comes this Pills, 
an’ stops alongside my berth, where I was re- 
clinin’, gettin’ my mouth prepared for a basin 
o’ soup an’ a ration o’ guava jelly. 

“‘Where’s my chow?’ says I. ‘Where’s the 
apprentice with my chow, you greazy little dab 
o’ zinc ointment? ’ says I, for I couldn’t stand 
for that Pills in any shape or form. 

“ ‘Very well spoken, for a dyin’ man,’ says he, 
with a grin like a small hyena. ‘You’ve been 
gettin’ on remarkable since you were trans- 
[18] 


SAILORMEN 

ferred to this sanitarium/ he says. ‘The sur- 
geon’s hardly seen your equal/ he says. ‘An’ 
he’s tired pawin’ you over day in an’ out, my 
faintin’ convalescent. An’ what in consequence? 
Shall I break it to you? The aft great-guns for 
yours. Third Division. Henceforth, three- 
one-o-five’s your watch-number: so on your 
way.’ 

“ ‘What/ says I, settin’ up in spite o’ my deli- 
cate condition. ‘I’m expected to turn out an’ 
work alongside a gun division, — an invalid? 
I’m to be deprived o’ my sleep an’ guava jelly? 
You low-lived body-snatcher! ’ 

“With that, Pills, he jerked the mattress an’ 
the beddin’ clean from under me. Without 
thinkin’ o’ regulations or anythin’, the rest, that 
Patrick saw, followed immediately.” 

Shorty paused, was about to clear his pipe 
as before, saw my expression of anticipation, 
and modestly gouged out the dottle with a 
match. He continued: 

“Before settin’ out towards home, we swung 
off Yokohama Bund for a week’s stay. It was 
there that the men chipped in to buy the Home- 
ward Bound. 

“You’ve seen a Homeward Bound pennant on 
a home-goin’ ship? Sometimes they’ll run two 
[ 19 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

hundred feet long, trailin’ from the maintruck. 
They may be buntin’, or they may be silk: that 
depends on the sporty disposition o’ the crew. 
Our Homeward Bound was silk. 

“Collins, a gunner’s mate in our division, went 
on the beach an’ left the order in a silk shop 
halfway down the Benten Dori. But, come 
along time to collect the goods, Collins, bein’ 
distracted, maybe, at findin’ two hundred an’ 
ninety dollars in his clothes, falls down an am- 
munition hoist o’ the aft turret an’ breaks a leg. 
With that, so far as steady-goin’ reputations 
went, it was up to Patrick here to bring the pen- 
nant out. But Patrick had just been ashore, an’ 
it was common scandal — ” 

“Get on wid the story,” snapped Patrick, sud- 
denly waking, “an’ omit that exthraneous flum- 
mery!” 

“Oho! O Hananoski! Omae ni horete 
iro-o-o!” 

“Translate?” I requested. 

Shorty glanced at Patrick. 

“As I was sayin’,” he resumed hurriedly, “it 
was up to Patrick, but he couldn’t go. The gun- 
deck talked it over after dinner. Says one: 

“ ‘Let the mail orderly get permission to fetch 
it when he goes to the post office.’ 

[ 20 ] 


SAILORMEN 

“ ‘That stuff Finney,’ says a bunch together. 
‘Not much! There ain’t any marines in this as 
yet, an’ won’t be.’ 

“Then Patrick says : 

“ ‘Let Shorty fetch it. It’s his liberty to- 
morrow, an’ he knows these heathen beyond the 
chance o’ gettin’ held up. He’s a convalescent, 
too; his works are delicate an’ he won’t dast 
to cut loose an’ get pickled. What’s more, he 
can stand lookin’ at a lot o’ money without gettin’ 
dizzy, or I’m no judge o’ youman nature.’ 

“ ‘It ain’t right,’ I told ’em, blushin’. 

“Blushin’!” cried Patrick, in ingenuous 
amazement. 

“Blushin’ ’s what I said. ‘It ain’t right,’ I 
told ’em. ‘I’ve only just joined. One o’ you 
had better go.’ 

“But no: ’twas me for that job, an’ no argu- 
ment. 

“So, next day, I got my face shaved an’ my 
hair oiled, an’ stowed away the two hundred an’ 
ninety; an’, about four bells, I hit the Bund, — 
just Shorty, plenipotentiary extraord’nary.” 

Said Patrick, suspiciously: 

“You were got up some, I’m thinkin’, just for 
to go an’ buy a pennant.” 

“I was got up,” admitted Shorty, without 
[21] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

hesitation. “I was a suitable escort for that two 
hundred an’ ninety. On the Bund, I hopped 
into a rik’sha. ‘Benten Dori,’ says I. An’ off 
we go, past the hotels, with the American ladies 
smilin’ on the verandas, an’ the little Jap girls 
clatterin’ out of the way, hi — hi ! 

“There’s somethin’ in the air o’ that town! 
Smell it an’ you’ve got to grin. We cut through 
the Concession, an’ rattled across a bridge, in 
amongst coolies an’ rik’shas an’ bald-headed 
babies an’ paper parasols. I was all the money. 
I begun to get ideas. But, ‘No, Shorty,’ I says. 
‘The Homeward Bound is what you’re after, 
at this writin’.’ An’ just then a guy in a salt 
an’ pepper suit jumps out into the street, flap- 
pin’ his hands at me. 

“ ‘Save us! ’ he yells, ‘That can’t be you! ’ ” 
“Say,” interrupted Patrick. “Who was that 
fella? That’s what I’ve been thryin’ to get out 
o’ Shorty ever since, sir. Was he a professional 
home-wrecker, or just an amateur? ” 

“He was a friend o’ mine,” replied Shorty, 
severely. “A friend I hadn’t seen since goin’ 
aboard the station ship Hancock. 

“ ‘No,’ I says to him. ‘I’m on business, to 
begin with. Come up the Benten Dori with me 
first, an’ after that I’m all yours.’ 

[ 22 ] 


SAILORMEN 

“ ‘You’ve got to side-step for a minute,’ says 
he, very overbearin’ly. ‘Then, we ’ll go an’ 
transact your business together, you an’ I.’ 

“I should ’a’ known better. I forgot that I 
was a convalescent. How sharper than a ser- 
pent’s tooth, as the sayin’ goes. An’ me off it 
for three months! There were all manner of 
extenuatin’ circumstances. . . . 

“Well, I ain’t lingerin’ over the details. 
There’s an interim that I can’t find any explana- 
tion for.” 

“Yes,” observed Patrick, “that interim. Ob- 
serve this evidence, then. I collected it myself, 
though it’s far from explainin’ the whole of it. 

“It was about three bells, mornin’ watch. 
Passin’ along, top-side, amongst the holystones, 
I looked overboard, by chance, to spit. An’ 
there, in the dawn’s early light, rubbin’ our 
paint, on the bosom o’ the wather lies a small 
sampan, two Japs workin’ the oars, an’ a sailor- 
man stretched out in the bottom, oblivious en- 
tirely. 

“The deck officer comes an’ leans over. 

“ ‘What’s this? ’ says he. 

“At that moment, I reco’nized it was Shorty. 

“ ‘I don’t just know, sir,’ I says, in conse- 
quence. 


[23] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“ ‘Call a masther-at-arms,’ says the deck 
officer. 

“So I goes, very hot under the collar, an’ 
routs out a Jimmy Legs, an’ leads him up to 
where the deck officer was rubberin’ down at 
the sampan, an’ this disrepitable Shorty. I an’ 
the Jimmy Legs got down the ladder an’ 
brought him up ; an’ a pritty sketch he was. On 
my word, between thinkin’ o’ the Homeward 
Bound, an’ the two hundred an’ ninety he’d 
taken ashore, an’ my glowin’ recommendation 
of him as a moral young man, I came near to 
bad language. 

“ ‘Hold up a bit,’ says the deck officer. 
‘What’s all this rubbish on him? Go through 
him here, till we see what he’s got.’ 

“I an’ the Jimmy Legs went through him. 
Now, sir, I present this evidence, which resulted: 

“First, he had a black eye, widout searchin’. 

“Second, he had the best part of a tea-house 
dure lantern crumpled up in his overshirt 
pocket. 

“Three, some one had been an’ tattooed a 
pink dragon an’ a risin’ sun in the middle of his 
chest. 

“Four, he had on him thirty-four dollars in 
yens an’ copper cash. 

[24] 


SAILORMEN 


“Five, the Homeward Bound was wrapped 
forty-one times around his waist! ,y 

“Sure,” said Shorty, his voice containing an 
undertone of pride. “How about that? How 
came the Homeward Bound, an’, mind you, all 
those yens additional? An’ that pink dragon, 
an’ the risin’ sun, tattooed? Oh, it’s all regular. 
Here, — look for yourself. Ever see a better 
done one? 

“But it’s all past me. I came flickerin’ back 
to life on the gun-deck linoleum, outside the 
door o’ the brig, an’ a marine sentry watchin’ 
over me. Then along stole Patrick, here, an’ 
tipped a wink to the sentry, an’ sat down near 
me. Says he, behind his hand: 

“ ‘Are you listenin’, you little sick, moral 
man? ’ 

“ ‘I am,’ I answered back. ‘An’ this is some 
turrible mistake, if that soldier’s guardin’ me. 
All because I had a faintin’ spell ashore, cornin’ 
out o’ the Y. M. C. A.’ 

“ l Is that' so!’ says Patrick. ‘Now I was 
thinkin’ you’d fainted over the whole o’ Yoko- 
hama. There’s been unofficial representations, 
through the police, by no end o’ merry villagers, 
already this beautieful day. Three J ap tea-house 
guys: two with beer an’ sake bills, an’ one with 
[ 25 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

a request to be paid for a dinner o’ fifteen covers, 
followed by geisha dances. Not to mention a 
rik’sha-man with a black eye shockin’ similar 
to yours, demandin’ six hours’ tariff. An’ a 
householder whose front wall was stove in by 
one o’ those can-wagons backin’ into it, late in 
the evenin’, the horses takin’ fright at Chinese 
firecrackers. Make no mistake: Ol’ Particular’s 
heard everythin’ already. At first, he says 
“Why, disgraceful beyond all leniency,” he says. 
“Is not this well covered by Article 16, to wit, 
Whosoever, when on shore, plunders, abuses, or 
maltreats any inhabitant, or injures his property 
in any way’? To begin with, the Appalachicola 
man bein’ in the most suspicious condition on 
return, an’ a straggler to boot, we will say, 
roughly speakin’, ’twas him, an’ put him in 
irons. Mr. Lochinvar” — meanin’ the Execu- 
tive — “pray see to it, to go into effect immedi- 
ately on his recovery.” ’ 

“ ‘Patrick, I should never ’a’ changed to this 
ship,’ I says, cryin’ a little, bein’ so weak an’ 
dispirited. ‘I should ’a’ croaked up Canton 
River, among youman bein’s, an’ been buried 
with every honor.’ 

“‘Forget it,’ says Patrick. ‘You’ll be out o’ 
this in two shakes. Hark now. When the sur- 
[26] 


SAILORMEN 


geon comes by to go to the sick-bay, I’ll whistle 
Jon Kena. That’s the tip for you to groan like 
the divil. You’re a very sick man, d’you 
see: an’ a day in the brig ud be the death o’ 
you. Remember, you’re close to dyin’, from 
a relapse.’ 

“ ‘ That won’t be any deception,’ I says. 

“So, by an’ by, I hear Patrick whistlin’ some 
horrible hash up the deck — ” 

“Beggars,” interrupted Patrick, dryly, “ain’t 
usually choosers, — nor musical conasoors.” 

“An’ so I groaned an’ groaned; an’ it all 
turned out as planned. That is, the surgeon 
came an’ had a look, an’ went an’ stirred up the 
Executive, who went an’ stirred up 01’ Par- 
ticular. The Executive says to him, as I heard 
afterwards off that long-eared Jap of 01’ Par- 
ticular’s : 

“ ‘Sir,’ he says, ‘the one we took on from the 
Appalachicola has been an’ come near killin’ 
himself ashore. The Doc thinks if he lies in 
the brig we’ll be usin’ a spare ens’n to wrap 
him in.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ says 01’ Particular, wigglin’ his 
fingers, ‘we can spare it to him. He’s gone an’ 
had an internation’lly complicated shore-leave, 
— or near to it.’ 


[ 27 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“ ‘But now he’s a very sick man,’ says the Ex- 
ecutive. 

“ ‘Did he bring back the Homeward Bound 
for the men, as I hear tell? Ha-rumph! Well, 
well, turn him into the sick-bay for the present. 
But when he’s fine an’ fit again, I will wear 
him down to a whisper for all this.’ 

“So I went into the sick-bay again. ’Twasn’t 
any fake from me — I was sick. I hadn’t the 
stren’th to hand that Pills a kick, when he stood 
by, grinnin’, an’ picked on me. I couldn’t even 
take a melancholy pleasure speculatin’ about the 
time I’d had. So you can imagine. 

“I was three days gettin’ out. We were away 
from Yokohama, then, rollin’ high an’ low. 

“But say, I came out to find myself a hero! 
To hear ’em tell it between decks, I’d done more 
damage on the beach than a landin’ party with 
quick-fire guns. What’s more, there was the 
Homeward Bound, snappin’ an’ curlin’ from the 
main-truck, for all to make guesses about. 
When first I came hobblin’ up to the gun-deck 
barber chairs, where they were waitin’ four 
deep for a shave, I had all the makin’s in the 
crowd to borrow a cigarette from. 

“When we went to quarters, I saw Ol’ Par- 
ticular havin’ me well pointed out for his private 
[28] 


SAILOR MEN 

eye. You should ’a’ seen how decrepit an’ piti- 
ful I looked at that: it’s a wonder he didn’t 
gush tears all over his face at the very bag o’ 
my knees! All mornin’, for fear he was goin’ 
to open up on me right away, I just lit’rally 
shambled round. Then, finally, someone forced 
a pot o’ paint on me, an’ ordered me to the aft 
turret, to clean up spots. Which I proceeds 
to do, an’ discovers Patrick, here, at the same 
job, whistlin’ through his teeth as if glad to 
be alive. 

“Squattin’ down on the deck alongside o’ 
Patrick, I begun to slap little gobs o’ paint 
against the turret, very mournful. Between 
two slaps, I heard a newspaper rustlin’ round 
the corner, further aft. An’, creakin’ my neck a 
trifle, exceedin’ly cautious, who should I see, 
in the midst o’ the quarterdeck, settlin’ himself 
in a big wicker chair, with his back to us, an’ 
beginnin’ to peruse a stale copy o’ the ‘Kobe 
Chronicle,’ but Ol’ Particular. Yes, sir: on 
the open quarter-deck in a wicker chair, readin’ 
the news, an’ smokin’ a Cabbago de General 
Aguinaldo. Such was his customary stunt on 
cruise, of a balmy mornin’, an’ is, indeed, if 
you’ll believe me, to this very day. 

“Say, a galley boy would ’a’ known better 

[29] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

than to do what I did then. I think I must ’a’ 
been light-headed still. 

“After makin’ sure that Patrick was too far 
round the turret to ’a’ seen the Skipper come up, 
I says, out loud : 

“ ‘All right,’ I says, ‘say what you want. But 
if he hasn’t been white to me, I hope my insides 
ain’t ever any better.’ 

“ ‘Meanin’ who?’ asks Patrick. 

“‘Meanin’ Ol’ Particular,’ I says. Ha! I 
was clean demented, wasn’t I? But I gave him 
his unofficial title, as brassy as possible, so he 
should know he was eaves-droppin’. 

“ ‘Look here,’ I says. ‘I go on the beach; an’ 
to be frank with you, I have a beer or two; an’ 
so, bein’ a convalescent, all at once I fade away. 
An’ what does he do? As soon as he sees what’s 
what, “Poor young man,” says he, as I heard 
afterwards, “poor young man, he’s gone an’ suf- 
fered a relapse, doin’ his duty by the Homeward 
Bound. Lamb broth for his, with parsley! An’ 
the rest o’ the voyage, watch if I don’t let him 
muss round with a light-weight paint-brush, 
renovatin’ the ship.” ’ 

“Patrick, lookin’ at me out o’ the corner of his 
eyes, says nothin’. I went on: 

“ ‘I’m glad he came to act that way. It makes 

[30] 


SAILORMEN 

me more comfortable about all I’ve done for 
him.’ 

“ ‘All you’ve done for him ! ’ shouts Patrick, 
droppin’ his brush. 

“ ‘Sure,’ I says. ‘Proposin’ that we all come 
up with a silver service, as a mark o’ special 
affection, to be handed to him to music when 
we get home, an’ all that. An’ chippin’ in the 
first coin to start it. Ain’t that anythin’? I sup- 
pose not! Oh, no!’ 

“Patrick looks at me with his mouth open. 
Peekin’ round the turret, I see Ol’ Particular’s 
wicker chair empty, an’ the quarter-deck bare. 

“ ‘Say,’ says Patrick, at length, ‘what’s eatin’ 
you, anyway?’ 

“Then it hit me, all in a bunch, just what I’d 
done. 

“ ‘Well, I think I’m daffy,’ I says. ‘Ol’ Par- 
ticular was settin’ round the corner, all the 
while I was talkin’. I think I was tryin’, in 
some way or other, to square myself.’ 

“‘Square yourself!’ yells Patrick, horror- 
struck. ‘How would you go about queerin’ 
yourself? He’ll hammer you flat. You should 
be lyin’ down with ice on you.’ ‘ 

“ ‘Wait up,’ I says, weakly gigglin’. ‘Sup- 
pose he swallows it? Suppose, in thinkin’ it 
[3i] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

over, he concludes it’s no more than fair he 
should have a silver service crowded on him?’ 

“ ‘Why,’ says Patrick, ‘I ain’t a prophet, but 
I should say, knowin’ what I know o’ crews’ 
ingratitude, that the poor old cuss ud draw a 
blank.’ 

“ ‘Well, I’m the goat, that’s all,’ I says. ‘I’ve 
done for myself, this time.’ 

“Next mornin’, I ran slam into Ol’ Par- 
ticular. That is, I was makin’ ready to throw 
a pail o’ water over the aft turret-top, an’ I 
looks down, an’ there he was, risin’ from his 
wicker armchair, where he’d been settin’, on the 
quarter-deck, readin’ a copy o’ the Regulations. 
‘Get ready, Shorty,’ says I to myself. ‘It’s goin’ 
to drop on you now.’ 

“Ol’ Particular looks up an’ says, very gruff: 

“ ‘You’re the Appalachicola man,’ he says. 

“ ‘Yes, sir,’ I says. 

“‘Are you recoverin’?’ he says. Take my 
oath, his curiosity made my flesh creep. 

“ ‘Yes, sir,’ says I, ‘I’m recoverin’, thanks.’ 

“ ‘Very good,’ he says. ‘How ’s the food on 
this ship?’ 

“ ‘It’s fine,’ says I. 

“ ‘Do you get good tobacco in the canteen?’ 
he asks me. 


[ 32 ] 


SAILORMEN 

“ ‘Yes, sir,’ says I, ‘it’s heavenly.’ 

“ ‘Very good,’ says he, again, an’ vanished 
below. Was I dreamin’? 

“I didn’t know. Days went along, with no 
one raisin’ a finger to me; still I didn’t know. 
It came to me quite suddenly, one fine after- 
noon, when I clattered down the gun-deck, an’ 
saw a mob standin’ round in a ring, gapin’ at 
Yabey, the Jap wardroom boy. Yabey was 
passin’ out a tale. Says he, makin’ all allowance 
for his English: 

“ ‘Then the Skipper, he leaned across the 
table confidentially to the First Luff. He said 
there never was a crew did such a thing 
before. He said he felt proud. A solid silver 
service, presented as a mark of appreciation, 
off his men, was a great honor. He’d never 
forget it.’ 

“ ‘What’s that?’ yells Collins, the gunner’s 
mate with the broken leg, thumpin’ his crutch 
on the linoleum. ‘A silver service! Off the 
crew! Do we look the part?’ 

“ ‘It’s strange,’ says another, ‘but I heard 
somethin’ quite similar whilst I was rubbin’ 
bright-work yesterday by the wardroom shaft. 
That the crew was cornin’ up for Ol’ Particular. 
I took it for a joke, an’ had a hearty laugh.’ 

[33] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“ ‘Gee,’ says another, ‘if that don’t remind me! 
Jimmy Legs, Number One, was sayin’ the same 
to-day! Whatever it is, it’s trickled down from 
the wardroom to the chief petty officers’ mess.’ 

“Say, imagine me! Listenin’ to that, I was 
just about a foot high. Then, with a loud, 
coarse laugh, this great, big stuff, here — Pat- 
rick — tells the whole thing on me. 

“They looked me over carefully, sayin’ never 
a word. Collins, he stumps round me on his 
crutch, regardin’ me from all sides, like I was 
some horrible waxwork. Says one Finney, a 
marine orderly, who hadn’t any business in it 
anyhow : 

“ ‘It’s slopped all over the ship. There’s not 
an ens’n, no, nor a oily-nosed black-ganger, 
aint lookin’ towards us. Ol’ Particular sent off 
no end o’ letters at Port Said, which I carried, 
staggerin’, myself. I suppose by this time the 
glad tidin’s are well on their way to little ol’ 
New York.’ 

“ ‘It’ll be all through the Service when we 
reach home,’ says Collins, lookin’ at me and 
suckin’ his teeth unpleasantly. ‘The motormen 
runnin’ up Sands Street, by the Yard, they’ll 
know it. There’ll be reporters with cameras 
climbin’ aboard before we’ve got a hawser out. 

[34] 


SAILORMEN 

Where’s your solid silver souvenirs for your 
Skipper? Haven’t any? My, my, of all the 
cheap bunches of assorted skates, lead me up to 
those Oklahoma sailormen . . 

“Well, from that time I’d ’a’ taken any 
wearin’ to a frazzle in the power of Ol’ Par- 
ticular, an’ enjoyed it. It’d ’a’ been a vacation 
to me. 

“Every time a new line o’ talk about that 
silver service came down from the wardroom, 
some guy felt called on to bring it to my notice. 
It was brought there in different ways. Once, 
when I went to have my face shaved, the barber 
havin’ been corrupted, I came out lookin’ like 
an explosion victim. When I turned in one 
night after a special sweet compliment Ol’ Par- 
ticular paid the crew, my dreamin’ sack cut 
loose an’ spilled me out on my head. Come 
along gun-drill in the aft turret, I got bounced 
up against everythin’ hard an’ sharp in reach, 
what with the general activity; an’ I’d ’a’ 
got more yet, only I nearly kicked one joker 
down a hoist. My ditty-box was full o’ coal 
dust an’ a dead rat, one mornin’, an’ I caught 
that Finney sneakin’ past with coal dust on his 
hands. So I up by accident and scraped his 
face along a W. T. door covered with cork 

[ 35 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

paint till his own mother’d ’a’ been astonished. 
After that, they begun to treat me different. 

“By an’ by we passed Gibraltar. 

“It’s funny how used they’d got, by then, 
to thinkin’ about that solid service. They’d sit 
round an’ ask each other how much would one 
cost, an’ did the Skipper really say this was the 
best crew an’ cruise he’d ever had, an’ would 
there be pictures in the papers o’ the cere- 
monies? They begun to take on airs, an’ think 
’emselves generous. There never was another 
crew gave a service to the Skipper, — it’d be a 
unick thing to do, all right.’ They didn’t find 
it a bad sensation, after all, — patronizin’ the 
OB Man in their minds. 

“Finally, when there were ragged edges on the 
Homeward Bound, it came along the last night 
out. Sandy Hook Light was past, an’ the sky 
ahead was a faint, watery yallow over where 
Fourteenth Street was waitin’ for us. An’ you’ll 
understand how, after longin’ for that sight for 
hundreds o’ years, like, up muddy little rivers, 
an’ in mussy little foreign harbors, we piped 
down that evenin’ with our chins on our shoul- 
ders, lookin’ towards it through the ports. 
Swingin’ doors, an’ pianos, an’ girls talkin’ good, 
straight New-York, an’ the Elevated rippin’ an’ 
[ 36 ] 


SAILORMEN 

roarin’ by outside! If we’d worn wings, there’d 
’a’ been few hammocks swung that night. 

“Just before taps, Collins calls a meetin’ out- 
side the gun-deck washrooms. Every big noise 
in the crew was there. 

“ ‘Well,’ says Collins, ‘as I foresaw from the 
first, the cards are forced on us. The Skipper, 
he’s hurtin’ his eyes already, lookin’ for it; an’ 
by this time the Navy near an’ far is just sittin’ 
round an’ waitin’.’ 

“Says Finney, the mail orderly, ‘Well, let ’em. 
There ain’t any ring through my nose.’ 

“ ‘Look-a-here,’ says Patrick, shovin’ for’d. 
‘How much ud each have to give, makin’ a flat- 
feet canvass from deck to deck?’ 

“ ‘Three or four dollars, say,’ says Old Duffy, 
the one we called Rip Van Winkle, — he was 
balancin’ on the age limit that year; it was next 
summer that he splashed over. 

“ ‘Three or four dollars!’ says Patrick. ‘An’ 
what’s three or four dollars, more or less, the 
mornin’ after you get your liberty?’ 

“They all begun shoutin’ an’ arguin’ at once. 
In the mix-up that followed, Mr. Finney got 
his blouse ripped up the back most mysterious. 
I was standin’ as near him as possible, and I 
couldn’t see who did it. 

[37] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“ ‘Now, then/ yells Collins, ‘do we, or do we 
not, blow the Skipper?’ 

“‘We do!’ roars everyone, red-headed with 
bein’ questioned about their sportin’ blood. 

“ ‘Moved an’ carried,’ says Collins. ‘And 
now, who goes up an’ makes the little bow? 
You, Duffy?’ 

“Ol’ Duffy, you should ’a’ seen him. He goes 
shrinkin’ into his shoulders like a girl, tryin’ not 
to grin with satisfaction. 

“ ‘Not me, mates,’ he says. ‘Oh, not me.’ 

“ ‘Collins, then,’ says Patrick at once, an’ 
Collins begun puttin’ on, whilst Duffy craned 
his neck at Patrick like he’d been robbed of 
five months’ pay. 

“Then everyone had a name to yell. A lieu- 
tenant came bristlin’ down the gun-deck; but he 
went away again very quick, — not to be in- 
terferin’, you see, with Ol’ Particular’s business. 

“ ‘We’ll draw lots,’ says Collins at length, 
when everyone was exhausted. ‘We’ll draw lots, 
to settle who goes up and makes the little bow.” 

“He tears a handful o’ slips off a pilot-boat 
newspaper, an’ holds ’em out. All the notice- 
able guys present have one from him. In the 
mix-up, I get one myself. 

“ ‘Back with that!’ shouts Collins. 

[38] 


SAILORMEN 

“ ‘Why?’ I asked. 

“ ‘Why? Nice question, that! Why, you’re 
the cause o’ the whole thing,’ he says. 

“ ‘An’ if I am?’ says I. ‘Glad enough you 
are, after all, an’ well you know it. I should 
be hayin’ thanks for mine, instead o’ this chin 
music. I come aboard your big, fat cow of a 
ship, an’ I make a name for her. She’ll be in 
every paper. She’ll be the talk an’ the teeth- 
gnashin’ envy of every captain in the Service. 
She couldn’t ’a’ got such a reputation for less 
than bein’ blown up in action. An’ when poor 
Shorty, the blushin’ parent of her renound, 
reaches out his hooks for a little chunk o’ paper, 
he gets it put all over his shirt. Shame!’ 

“Collins, he wilts. He looks at me like I 
was a curiosity. Still lookin’ at me, he makes 
two or three tries to speak. At len’th, he says, 
in a small, little voice: 

“ ‘The man with the O on his slip is the one.’ ” 

Shorty, pausing, watched a smoke ring sail 
away. 

“And who was the one?” I inquired. 

For a moment, Shorty struggled inwardly. 
Then, suddenly, he smote the table a tremendous 
blow. He bellowed: 

“Mel” 


[39]' 1 


“PAPEEYON” 


H ANDS on the luminous dials of street 
clocks crept round to eleven. The in- 
numerable patrons of the theatres, crowding 
forth, congested Broadway. Up and down the 
glittering street broke out confusion: one heard 
a din of gongs and brakes, dainty hoofs dancing, 
automobile horns, and the carriage-caller’s rau- 
cous hoot. The way between the curbs became 
a torrent bed in which, like a constricted flood, 
crowded the glistening coats of horses, the 
gleaming bodies of “limousines,” and the yellow 
sides of cars. Arc lights above shop windows 
shed a ghastly radiance upon the multitude of 
slowly moving faces. Under striped awnings 
before theatres, bareheaded women, elegantly 
dressed and wearing jewels, were jostled by the 
ragged gallery gods. 


“PAPEEYON” 

In the midst of this familiar, nightly business, 
suddenly I discovered an incongruous touch: 
I saw, standing on the curb-stone, watching 
the current of traffic for a ford, two friends 
of mine, one tall, one short, both clothed 
in the blue uniform of the United States 
Sailorman. 

I approached them from behind. Reaching 
an arm round each sinewy, brown neck, I gently 
bumped the two heads together. As my sailor- 
men wheeled, it was a pleasure for me to see 
pleasure dawning on their faces. 

In the comparative quiet of a side street, tall 
Patrick immediately put his finger, so to speak, 
upon the vital point: 

“Shorty here has call to be aboard by four 
bells, — I should say, by chu o’clock. As for my- 
self, I’ve a night’s liberty. Like the guy in the 
book — what’s his name? — I’ve burned my 
britches behind me.” 

“I didn’t know the Oklahoma was up from 
Tompkinsville,” I said. 

“We brought her up yesterday: she’s to be 
scraped an’ pared an’ manicured an’ gummed 
up wid unguents an’ face powders till she’s the 
cryin’ shame o’ the fleet. You should put eye to 
her now, as she lies lollin’ in Dry Dock 3. But 

[41] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 


wait till she’s finished! She’ll be far too fancy, 
I’m thinkin’, to be respectable.” 

Shorty, at this point, interrupted by collaps- 
ing weakly into Patrick’s arms. In this pose he 
made feeble motions as of a man about to faint. 

“Pay no attention to me,” he wheezed; “I’m 
just a little giddy, — not havin’ had anythin’, you 
see, in more than half an hour . . 

“I was on the point of suggesting” — I pro- 
tested. 

Directly across the street blazed the gay front 
of a cafe. There we found, in an alcove, a quiet 
table, guarded by a cadaverous waiter who 
stared at my friends with some hostility, till 
Shorty implored him to take off his false-face 
and appear under his true colors. 

“We’ve been to a show,” said Patrick, gravely, 
setting down an empty glass. “A show on 
Broadway.” 

“A rotten show,” interjected Shorty. “Girls 
an’ music. An’ there were sailormen in it. For 
ten cents I’d ’a’ gone round to the back door, 
after, an’ kicked the last one o’ those fake sailor- 
men up in the floatin’ ribs. Sailormen! Huh! ” 

“They were irritatin’,” Patrick remarked. “It 
ain’t right to let a lot o’ guys like them come 
out on a stage an’ make a monkey of a man’s 
[ 42 ] 


“PAPEEYON 


profession. Now, look you, sir, they were sup- 
posed, as I take it, to be cornin’ ashore in some 
foreign port, you see, — where, I ain’t saying. 
An’ how do they come ashore, then? Why, by 
leaps an’ bounds, singin’ an’ jiggin’ about like a 
lot o’ flies in a bottle, kissin’ the gurruls, an’ 
handin’ ’em flowers, an’ gettin’ down on one knee, 
and Lord knows what entirely.” 

“But, those, I suppose, were comic opera 
sailormen? ” 

“That’s no great excuse,” replied Shorty, 
hotly. “If they can’t act right, they shouldn’t 
act at all. For ten cents, as I remarked — ” 
“But,” I said, “I remember seeing a large 
number of sailormen ashore one Christmas eve, 
in a foreign port; and Patrick’s remark about 
flies in a bottle fitted them rather well. I re- 
member seeing some things in Ship Street — ” 
“What’s that!” piped Shorty, sitting straight. 
“Ship Street? Not Hongkong? Not Ship 
Street, Hongkong, of a Christmas eve?” 

“The same. It was in — yes, Nineteen two, 
and there lay in the harbor a Russian, a French- 
man, half a dozen Englishmen and — by 
George! It was the Oklahoma , too! ” 

“He was there, Patrick!” cried Shorty, 
shrilly. 


[43] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“But I’d forgotten it was the Oklahoma , — 
that was long before I knew you. You were 
there too? You were ashore? ” 

“Ha! ha!” Slapping Patrick on the shoul- 
der, he lay back and grinned at me. “ If that 
don’t get my goat! An’ you there! Patrick, 
d’you remember my friend Papeeyon, of that 
occasion? ” 

“He comes to mind,” said Patrick, simply. 

“It’s a little enough world, when once you’ve 
been around it,” — from Shorty, smiling in 
friendly fashion at fresh glasses. “To think — 
of all nights in the year, an’ you there! Perhaps 
you saw me, at that? ” 

“I saw a great many — ” 

“I know. Yeh; you’d ’a’ seen me, for I 
was smeared all over the place, as I recollect, — 
I an’ my friend Papeeyon. Tch! tch! Patrick, 
if you had the choice, where would you be to- 
night? Not this side o’ the world, I don’t think. 
An’ that’s the funny part of it: when you’re 
there you would be here, an’ when you’re here 
you can’t think of anywhere you’d as soon be as 
there. Sometimes, I’d give an ear just to hear 
rik’sha wheels buzzin’, an’ wooden shoes click- 
in’, an’ the big gongs up back in the temples 
goin’ ‘bo-ong-g-g! ’ of an evenin’ . . 

[44] 


“PAPEEYON” 

“But,” I said, after a pause, “this would be 
Japan, Shorty, and it’s getting us away from 
that Hongkong evening of ours.” 

“Yeh, that’d be Japan. ‘Bo-ong-g! ’ go those 
gongs ’way off in the dark. I used to know a 
little girl there, in that tea-house up over 
the Hundred Steps. Not the Admiral’s tea- 
house. The other one, across the way, — the 
loud one.” 

“But what did you say your friend’s name 
was? ” 

“Who, her? Susuki.” 

“No, no; your Hongkong Christmas eve 
friend.” 

“Oh, Papeeyon was his name. A funny name, 
eh? A Frenchman, you see.” 

“Papillon? ” I suggested, “that means ‘butter- 
fly,’ you know.” 

“You don’t say! Well — Patrick, shall I spin 
him that yarn? For I suspect he’ll call me a 
liar when he’s squeezed the last of it out o’ me.” 

“I was there,” announced Patrick, luxuriously 
smelling the end of a canteen cigar. “I was 
there, an’ what I saw you may take for facts. 
An’, there was a calf docthor; he knows it, too. 
Biddlebrick was his name — the gunboat Skag- 
way’s got him now. Ask him of it bouldly if 

[45] 4 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

ever you see him, — he’s a smaller man than 
you.” 

“That calf doctor was the beginnin’ of it,” 
said Shorty, borrowing my knife to scrape out 
his pipe with. “It was this way, you see. He 
was a — ” 

“Aisy, Shorty,” warned Patrick. “Remember 
you’re in decent company.” 

“Well, then, he was just a calf doctor o’ shock- 
in’ poor parts. He should never ’a’ broke into 
the Service. Ol’ Particular — the Skipper — was 
a gent o’ purest ray serene, an’ from him down 
to, an’ abuttin’ on, the chief Jimmy Legs — who 
was actually almost youman — I hadn’t a kick. 
The work wasn’t any sighin’ siesta — no more 
than usual. But say, the chow was noble. I’ve 
et two pumelos at a meal in the Yallow Sea, 
an’ that’s fairly gaudy provisions, ain’t it? But 
this small calf doctor was the bug in the oint- 
ment. He was a spiteful little snipe, an’ he put 
his spite on me, for some purpose — ” 

“He saw you that day you were takin’ him off 
by the barber’s chairs,” said Patrick. “Mugs, 
who was just afther latherin’ me up, handed me 
out a cruel cut on the chin from laughin’ at you 
then, as I remember it. Biddlebrick saw you 
well: he was pretendin’ to look at Fatty Mul- 

[46] 


“PAPEEYON” 

lins’s tongue, for’d, on his way below to the sick- 
bay.” 

“However that may be,” continued Shorty, 
“an officer an’ a gentleman wouldn’t ’a’ paid any 
more attention to it. But this little weeper — 
The Bacterium we called him between decks — 
he put his spite on me. An’ take it from me, 
there’s no end o’ ways you can be deviled by 
such. I was unhealthy, I was dirty, I was drink- 
in’ in private. He blackened me up in great 
shape, an’ the wardroom should ’a’ known me 
well, by his talk, for all kinds of a buzzard. 
‘All right,’ says I to myself. ‘Some day I’ll be 
handin’ somethin’ to you for all this; an’ it won’t 
be such a sweet-scented nosegay, either.’ But I 
kept that in mind for quite a time before I found 
my way clear. 

“Now it was just chance, you see, that brought 
me, right at the proper moment, one fine mornin’ 
off Woosung, to rubbin’ up bright-work by the 
shaft, top-side, that ran down direct to the ward- 
room. It was nothin’ more nor less, of course, 
than a phonograph with a horn attachment; 
what was spoken down there came up as if I was 
sittin’ below myself, stickin’ my nose into my 
wardroom sherry like one of ’em. I hear this 
Bacterium cheepin’ and, consequently, give ear. 

[47] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“ ‘You may laugh on,’ he was saying, ‘but I 
tell you that every man has more than one nature 
inside him. One only you see, yet a shock may 
bring the other out, an’ it’s no more like the first 
than prunes are like pants’' — or words to that 
effect. ‘There’s nothin’ to laugh at,’ says he, ‘in 
the theory o’ double personalities.’ 

“ ‘Well, Shorty,’ says I to myself, ‘these things 
ain’t bright-work, but no end interestin’, show- 
in’ what the youman mind can come to.’ So I 
listened again. 

“ ‘I’ve read o’ that,’ I heard the Marine Ma- 
jor’s voice saying in reply, ‘but I should like to 
see a case myself, before believin’.’ 

“ ‘Why,’ cried out The Bacterium, ‘there’s a 
case of a man at home. He was a big Harp in 
his right mind, an’ yet he had spells when he 
spoke Spanish an’ thought he belonged else- 
where, in foreign Spanish parts. An’ when his 
family came puttin’ up a roar to be recognized, 
he gave ’em the hoot.’ Or, again, words to that 
effect. I remember the gist of it, you see, if not 
the language. 

“ ‘Well,’ says the Marine Major’s voice, hu- 
morin’ him, like, ‘it’s interestin’, all right, but 
you’ve got to show me! 

“ ‘It’s the hope o’ my life,’ says The Bacte- 

[48] 


PAPEEYON” 


rium, very solemn, ‘to find such a case for my 
own. An’, if ever I do, I’ll show it to you, Ma- 
jor, never fear.’ 

“ ‘Why,’ says I, goin’ below, to Patrick, here, 
‘that blitherin’ little weevil of a calf doctor’s 
all nuts aloft. He thinks he’s got two men in- 
side him. Many’s the lad that’s been clapped 
into the foolish-house for less than that I’ An’ 
I told the whole of it to Patrick. 

“ ‘Don’t you go callin’ him nuts yet, Shorty,’ 
he says. ‘You’re not qualified. There’s more in 
medicine than you an’ I think. I’ve heard talk 
just as crazy in Doctor Bernhauser’s Lecturin’ 
Hall and Medical Waxwork Museum, back on 
the old Bowery.’ ” 

“An’ that’s thrue, too,” Patrick interrupted, 
seriously. “But don’t you ever go into that 
place! They scare the heart out o’ you there.” 
He shuddered. 

“Well,” resumed Shorty, “I kept turnin’ it 
over in my mind, of! an’ on; an’ the next day, 
greasin’ round the hoist o’ the aft turret — I was 
shellman for the port twelve-inch, then — I got 
chinnin’ with a guy named Marron, a very 
queer guy, who knew lots o’ funny truck for a 
jackie. You remember Marron, Patrick? ” 

“I do,” answered Patrick, absentmindedly. 

[49] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“He went to his glory on that small scrap-heap, 
the Akron , by Ilo Ilo, a year gone come Septem- 
ber. A very queer card, as you say, was Mar- 
ron — quite educated.” 

“Sure. Well, to Marron I said: 

“ ‘Marron, what do you know, if any, o’ the 
theory o’ double personalities? ’ 

“Take my oath, he near fell down the 
hoist. 

“‘Save us!’ he cries, ‘what next?’ 

“But he soon calmed down, an’ what he knew 
I heard: he was a walkin’ encyclopedia, that 
lad! So, presently, havin’ got a stummick-full, 
I went below with an indigestion o’ cruel, long 
words. 

“I rolled into my dreamin’ sack, that night, 
burstin’ with ’em, — but when I turned out with 
the holystones, next mornin’, there was a little 
dab of a grand idea, dodgin’ about in the back 
o’ my brains. 

“ ‘Shorty,’ says I to myself, ‘there’s the makin’ 
o’ something sumptuous in those words that 
sifted up the wardroom ventilator. With time, 
an’ patience, it might be done. But, it must be 
done very delicate — an’ private.’ That mornin’ 
I smiled on The Bacterium, when he came 
scowlin’ by, as if I loved him half to death. 

[50] 


“PAPEEYON” 

A real wise guy would V taken warnin’ from 
that smile. . . . 

“Now see how everythin’ turned out for 
Shorty, the downtrod victim' o’ brutality an’ 
spite. One day, off Woosung, the wireless de- 
tector up topside began to buzz, — it was the 
Admiral’s wave-length at the other end, by the 
way the ship jumped to that tune. An’ straight- 
way we went north, bouncin’ over the muddy 
ocean billow till, just two days before Christ- 
mas, we dropped mud-hooks in Hongkong 
harbor. 

“There she lay, huddled under the Peak, all 
green gardens an’ clouds above, an’ below all 
yellowish-whitish houses ; an’ the docks crawlin’ 
with coolies; an’ the harbor bobbin’ with sam- 
pans an’ yachts an’ ships. As you say, there was 
a Russian there — a big, frowsy volunteer drip- 
pin’ with dirty troops. An’ there were five 
Britishers — I’ve forgotten their names, but 
cruisers all, savin’ one. An’ there was the Ad- 
miral Costeclar ” 

Shorty, pausing, glanced at Patrick, who met 
that glance, bit off a large piece from the frayed 
remnant of his cigar, and ruminated calmly. 

“The Admiral Costeclar, then,” I inquired, 
“was the Frenchman? ” 

[51] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“A lovely bunch of a battleship,” mused 
Shorty. “A big, fat, slate-blue thing, nine- 
tenths out o’ water, an’ her superstructure er- 
uptin’ in cupolas, an’ spires, an’ domes like a 
Luna Park pavilion. You know the French 
style.” 

“The Saints look down on her the day she 
sticks up her stern as a target forninst our tur- 
ret,” murmured Patrick, dreamily. “A sea- 
going Flatiron! Twelve-inch shells in an’ 
amongst that Gothic architecture, — faith! I’d 
near take shame to do it!” 

“But,” remonstrated Shorty, “I hope you 
wouldn’t harm my friend Papeeyon?” 

“You see, Papeeyon was aboard her; Papee- 
yon was a sailorman o’ the glad edifice the 
Admiral Gosteclar. I was hangin’ out o’ the 
gun-deck ports, spittin’ into the water an’ eyin’ 
a sampanful o’ Jap girls goin’ aboard a P. an’ O. 
Patrick, here, comes along an’ scrouges out be- 
side me. The Jap girls fade away, gigglin’, an’ 
we watch the Admiral Gosteclar . .Then, says I, 
to Patrick: 

“ ‘Remember that night last year at Nagasaki 
when I was taken an’ handled so brut’lly by 
those sawed-off, yallow, little police insects, for 
failin’ out of a tea-house window, on my head, 
[ 52 ] 


“PAPEEYON 


into the stummick of someone ridin’ by in a 
rik’sha? That was the night I met a guy I 
like, — an’, if he ain’t dead yet, he’s swabbin’ 
away on that ghastly mausoleum yonder. 
Papeeyon was his name an’, on my word, if you 
ever saw him in decent sailorman’s clothes, in- 
stead of a starched monkey collar an’ a little 
girl’s hat, you’d swear it was me!’ 

“Patrick gave me the laugh. 

“ ‘All right,’ I says, ‘but if he ain’t the image 
o’ me, I hope I never see Sandy Hook Light. 
It scared me, meetin’ him so in Nagasaki, an’ 
likewise it scared him ; an’ that’s how we came 
to get soused together. Why, if you saw him — 
if anyone saw him — ’ 

“I stopped of! short, jarred out o’ breath by a 
thought. I broke away from the port, an’ went 
reelin’along the gun-deck, intoxicated just with 
the bare idea of it. An’ before I knew it, I fell 
slam into the arms o’ The Bacterium, who was 
sneakin’ up from the sick-bay. 

“‘Aha!’ he hisses, holdin’ me tight an’ 
smellin’ my breath. ‘Have I caught you with 
the goods, this time?’ 

“Now mark me well, what I did. I stepped 
back, an’ wiped my hand across my forehead, 
an’, says I, in a little, high voice: 

[ 53 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

" ‘Comprong pah / says I, just like that — 
' Comprong pah!’ 

“ ‘Why/ cries The Bacterium, ‘what con- 
founded foolishness is this ?’ But Shorty, gog- 
glin’ at him like a dead fish, he just says: 

“ ‘Comprong pah, m’soo!’ 

“You should ’a’ seen him yank me over 
against a port an’ stick his finger into my 
wrist. 

“ ‘A bad pulse,’ says he, ‘an’ a rollin’ eye.’ 
Then I looked round an’, seein’ no one close, 
I took him by the sleeve, most familiar, an’ 
pointed out o’ the port, towards the Admiral 
Gosteclar. 

“‘You good m’soo,’ says I, ‘me go Franch 
sheep; comprenny?’ 

“ ‘Why,’ he says, ‘you’re plumb demented, my 
young man. Into the sick-bay for yours, an’ 
some one fat to sit on you, whilst I read up the 
diseases o’ the brain.’ Then, for that, I gave 
him all the French language I knew, in one 
long string — ” 

“What kind of French?” I asked. 

“Why, mostly cussin’, I fear, an’ perhaps a 
few words like ‘Je t’aime bocou ’ an’ ‘baissy-moi/ 
that I’d picked up here an’ there. But he never 
knew the difference! 


[54] 


“PAPEEYON” 

“Say, all at once I saw him turn yallow all 
over his face. 

“‘Wow!’ he cries out, failin’ back and slap- 
pin’ his forehead, ‘my sakes, if I ain’t found 
one!’ An’ off he goes, full speed ahead, up the 
gun-deck. As for me, I went over an’ leaned 
against a five-inch breech an’ near drew my last 
breath. 

“ ‘But wait,’ says I to myself, all at once, 
stoppin’ short. ‘He’ll be bringin’ the whole 
ship an’ the quarter-deck!’ Sure enough, while 
I was sayin’ it, there he came, draggin’ the 
Marine Major an’ a lieutenant along by the 
sleeves, an’ half the gun-deck skulkin’ behind, 
pretendin’ to have duties for’d. 

“He minces up to me. Says he, very soft: 

“ ‘Tell these gentlemen, if you please, what 
you’ve just told me!’ 

“Lookin’ at him solemnly, I says : 

“ What’s that, sir? I haven’t said anythin’ to 
you to-day, sir, not that I know of.’ 

“ ‘Why,’ says he, turnin’ red, ‘you’ve just fin- 
ished talkin’ to me in French!’ 

“ ‘French!’ says I. ‘Why, sir, what would I 
do with French?’ 

“The Marine Major began to laugh. The 
lieutenant whispered somethin’ about always 

[ 55 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

hearin’ a gurglin’ noise in Biddlebrick’s cabin. 
But The Bacterium roared out: 

“ ‘I tell you it’s so, for I heard him! He shall 
confess — or stay. Maybe he’s a temporary ab- 
session only.’ 

“ ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘that’s a hard name to call a 
sailorman for nothin’, ain’t it?’ The Marine 
Major pulls him away an’ takes him off, him 
sayin’ as he goes : 

“ ‘I heard him, on my heart an’ soul I heard 
him! But I fear he’s only a temporary ab- 
session! However, we shall see.’ 

“Says I to Patrick, when he came crowdin’ 
up with the rest: 

“ ‘What would you do, Patrick, if I called 
you a temporary absession?’ 

“ ‘My fine little man,’ says he to me, ‘I would 
warm the seat o’ your whereabouts.’ So there 
we dropped it; an’ the berth-deck told the gun- 
deck, an’ the black gang, an’ the clinkers, that 
The Bacterium was eight more kinds of a 
drunken Nero. 

“Now see what happened. I couldn’t lose that 
Bacterium! Topside an’ below, he squattered 
in my wake. 

“ ‘I’ll get him yet,’ says he next mornin’ to 
the Marine Major, in the hearin’ o’ Patrick. 
[56] 


“PAPEEYON 


‘He’s a temporary absession, but he’ll go off 
again, never fear, an’ I shall be there.’ 

“Patrick asked me what it was all about. 

“ ‘Leave this to me,’ I says. ‘It’s my liberty . 
to-day, an’ perhaps to-morrow you’ll know all.’ 

“Well, it was my liberty, but i came near not 
gettin’ ashore, on account o’ that Bacterium. 
He couldn’t bear to let me out of his sight. 
Gettin’ down into the lanch, I heard him bleatin’ 
to the First Luff, above: 

“ ‘He’s not all there, that man,’ says he; ‘he 
needs attention.’ 

“ ‘I’m the last,’ I hissed down the neck o’ 
Marron, who was holdin’ the lanch fast. ‘Cast 
off!’ With that we got away, Jimmy Legs 
Number One leanin’ out of a port an’ watching 
us with a hungry eye, knowin’ well he’d soon be 
snappin’ the lock on some of us. Then, we hit 
the beach — Hongkong, of a Christmas eve . . .” 

“Quane’s Road, I like,” remarked Patrick, 
placidly, “Quane’s Road, an’ me in a voluptuous 
cane chair wid four coolies hooked to it, teeterin’ 
past the flower-market an’ the hotels. I don’t 
know a more stylish place for to air an after- 
noon’s undisposition.” 

“Queen’s Road nothin’,” cried Shorty. There’s 
a straight Jap teahouse out by Happy Valley. 

[57] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

I went there with Marron, ridin’ high an’ dry. 
An’ later — the sun was down some time — we 
came sashaying back into town, to find Ship 
Street. An’ what a town!” 

“The crews of eight warships were turned 
loose into her,” murmured Patrick, “an’ the 
streets full o’ marching marine patrols, pickin’ 
up the non compo’ mentis . . . But you saw it 
yourself.” 

“An”, the roaring an’ singing in various lan- 
guages,” reflected Shorty, “reminded me of a 
starvin’ menagerie. Strings o’ rik’shas flittin’ 
up an’ down, an’ a highly musical sailorman 
in each. There was good flightin’ at the mouth 
o’ Ship Street. The Russians were throwin’ 
teak tables out o’ the top floor of a house, an’ 
the British were stripping off the legs of ’em 
for clubs. Marron an’ I hopped out of our 
chairs an’ drove into it with a yell, — an’ in the 
midst we found Patrick. What was it all 
about?” 

“Faith,” said Patrick, “I don’t guess any one 
knew that much. ’Twas a pritty enough little 
go. We took sides with the English, an’ claned 
the Russians out o’ the house. Aftherwards, we 
all went roarin’ up the street together. ’Twas 
then I lost Shorty.” 


[58] 


“PAPEEYON” 

“A bunch o’ French came by,” Shorty ex- 
plained, “an’ I went with ’em. I was lookin’ 
for my friend Papeeyon.” 

“A grand chance you stood o’ findin’ him in 
that shriekin’ Gehenna,” Patrick observed. 

“I found him, none the less,” said Shorty. “I 
found him wobblin’ on a table, somewhere, 
wheezin’ a song, and wearin’ a fine big lump on 
his forehead an’ half a pair o’ pants. Tapee- 
yon!’ I hails him. He stops an’ gets me well in 
focus. ‘Mong Jew/' he yells out. ‘Mong bon 
ami duh Nagasaki!' An’ he dives off the table 
at me, drivin’ me half into the floor like a ham- 
mer ’d drive a nail. Those French are the most 
affectionately constituted tabasco, ain’t they? 

“I took my friend Papeeyon under the shoul- 
ders an’ hoisted him out into Ship Street. It 
made me feel funny all over to look at him: 
he was so much like myself. He was lally- 
gaggin’ about on my arm, droopin’, an’ givin’ 
way at the knees. In some manner or other he’d 
got his overshirt twisted round back-foremost so 
his starched collar stuck out under his chin like 
a bib, an’ his fool of a little hat kept slidin’ 
down over his nose; an’ I declare, when I let 
him loose for a second, I didn’t know was he 
cornin’ or goin’. I lugged him up Ship Street, 

[ 59 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

fightin’ for gangway an’ watchin’ out for bottles 
from windows. An’, presently, we came to ol’ 
Low Guie’s shop. Do you know Low Guie’s, 
by chance?” 

I did not. 

“No offense; it’s the only place in Hong- 
kong I know where you can find a bag o’ Bull 
an’ a bottle o’ Bud. We went in an’, with that, 
my friend Papeeyon suddenly crumbled. Fini; 
mo deki-agatta ; ausgespielt , — you could ’a’ 
blown his clothes off with a twelve-inch, an’ 
he’d no more than smiled in his sleep. 

“Now, take note. Half an hour later, a badly 
torn French sailorman’s uniform disappeared 
out o’ Low Guie’s place, by a back window. An’ 
Shorty, in a borrowed kimono an’ a pair o’ those 
very slack Chink pants, went skippin’ along in 
the shadows o’ Ship Street, lookin’ for an Okla- 
homa patrol. Seein’ one turn a corner, I yelled 
at it from a dark spot. 

“ ‘Patrol there!’ I yelled. ‘There’s a disabled 
American in Low Guie’s, back yonder.’ 

“ ‘Thanks, Johnny,’ says a voice, an’ they 
marched off, clankin’ most businesslike, for the 
body. An’, ten minutes later, I see ’em movin’ 
back with it, slow an’ stately. Says I to myself: 

“ ‘It almost frightens me! Am I here or am 


“PAPEEYON” 

I there? An’ I pranced up an alley, gigglin’ 
an’ crackin’ my fingers, — a crazy sight I must 
’a’ been, with my kimono floatin’ behind, a 
girl’s kimono, too, I think: it was all over posies 
and birds. An’, after that, — Tell him, Patrick, 
what happened then. I took on a very singular 
lapse o’ memory round about that time. But 
Patrick here can piece it out, — he’s got the 
ship’s end of it, which I missed.” 

“Sure,” said Patrick, complacently. “I was 
back an’ aboard, havin’ enjoyed myself with 
decorum — not forgettin’ my time limit. An’, 
next day, I had an appetite for my Christmas 
dinner, which some hadn’t. Fm not the de- 
mented, plungin’ shame o’ the gun-deck.” 

“ Is that so!” cried Shorty. “You brought 
back a bum eye off some one, however.” 

“My eye was hurt by the barest accident,” 
snapped Patrick. To me: 

“I was aboard when the patrols came back 
with the last scrapin’s from shore; I marked ’em 
bein’ brought up the gangway. 

“ ‘There’s O’Shay,’ says I, ‘an’ there’s Cun- 
nion, an’ he’s very bad, an’ there’s Shorty — for 
Hivin’s sakes look at Shorty!’ ’Twas marine 
guards all round, an’ Lord knowed what to fol- 
low; the Jimmy Legses had the time o’ their 

[61] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

lives. Never in the Service did I see such 
a cornin’ aboard as that Christmas eve! Ould 
Particular goes rampin’ up an’ down his 
boudoir, roarin’ out: 

“ ‘Do I command a bumboat, or a battleship? 
I shall wear these men down, for this, till anny- 
one could read fine print through ’em,’ he says. 
‘Never a man shall set foot ashore again in these 
wathers,’ he says, ‘for this evening’s carry- 
in’s-on,’ he says. The marine orderly, guardin’ 
his dure, passed this out to the ship at large, an’ 
we slept on it. In the mornin’ — ” 

“Ah!” remarked Shorty, with relish. 

“In the mornin’,” Patrick continued, “all of 
a sudden The Bacterium, whilst nosin’ round 
outside the brig, discovers that Number Three- 
one-o-five, lyin’ there wid soldiers watchin’ 
over him, can’t speak annythin’ but French. 
On my soul, ’twas a treat to see him! 
Up the gun-deck he kites, like so much 
beheaded poulthry, an’ back he comes wid the 
Marine Major. 

“ ‘Now,’ says he to Three-one-o-five, pullin’ 
him up on his feet, ‘say it again.’ An’ Three- 
one-o-five, very pale, peerin’ all about, lets out 
a long string o’ French. Then, takin’ a leap, he 
lands by a port. An’, says he, pointin’ a 
[62] 


PAPEEYON” 


thremblin’ finger at the Admiral Costeclar 
across the wather : 

“ ‘Him my sheep, m’soo!’ 

“ ‘The same words!’ cries out The Bacterium, 
huggin’ himself, ‘the very same words! A per- 
fect case!’ An’ with that, grabbin’ Three-one- 
o-five, he yanks him head-first off towards the 
sick-bay. 

“Mark you what occurred now. The First 
Luff came down to the sick-bay! There was in- 
numerable lieutenants havin’ business there- 
abouts. Soon I heard the berth deck go still as 
death, an’ — tramp, tramp, tramp — came Ould 
Particular himself, pretendin’ not to be inter- 
ested in annythin’, an’ the Marine Major taggin’ 
him, chatterin’: 

“ ‘A remarkable case, sir! He speaks nothin’ 
but French!’ They all went in through the 
sick-bay dure. 

“Then, all at once, we heard a hubbub up top- 
side; an’ down the ladder, escorted in style by 
Jimmy Legs Number One, very bilious an’ 
shaky, wearin’ a pair o’ Chink pants an’ a dirty 
white vest, comes Shorty, when, by every token, 
he should ’a’ been in the best o’ company in the 
sick-bay. 

“The berth deck saw him an’ gave a groan o’ 

[63] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

horror. An’ at that, out o’ the sick-bay dure 
comes the Skipper, the First Luff, the Marine 
Major, and The Bacterium, an’ claps eyes to 
him, where he stands in his baggy breeches. 

“Holy! The Bacterium gives a squeak o’ 
pure fright, runs in to look at what’s inside, an’ 
then runs out to look at Shorty. Then he runs 
in again, an’ drags out Shorty’s French-speakin’ 
double. An’ I think the Skipper himself was 
near to failin’ down at the sight. But says 
he, whilst advancin’ rapidly on Shorty: 

“ ‘Clear those men, yonder, away,’ he says. 
‘Now then, you! The quick truth out o’ you.’ 

“Shorty started to chatter his teeth — ” 

“Small wonder!” cried Shorty. “I counted 
on a calf doctor, not a whole wardroom, an’ the 
captain’s cabin thrown in! I thought it was my 
last day. 

“ ‘Sir,’ says I, chatterin’, ‘I’ve been used 
shamef’lly, sir. I’ve been knocked out on the 
beach, an’ all my back pay stolen, sir, an’ my 
uniform gone, sir, an’ it’s more dead than alive 
I am, sir, an’ that’s the truth, sir, so help me.’ 

“ ‘An’ who’s this, then?’ says the Skipper, 
facin’ about. 

“ ‘Why,’ I says, strikin’ not much of an atti- 
tude, ‘I do believe he’s got my uniform on! I 

[64] 


“PAPEEYON” 

don’t know, I’m sure, who’d play such a joke 
on me. Why! He looks like me, too, sir!’ 

“ ‘Looks like you!’ snaps Ol’ Particular, ‘he’s 
your twin, I’m thinkin’.’ An’ stampin’ away 
topside, he wigwags the Admiral Gosteclar, 
askin’ if they’ve lost a sailorman. They had, an’ 
much obliged to Ol’ Particular. They’d send 
for him at once. So Ol’ Particular says, wig- 
wagging in return: 

“ ‘Then send a uniform, too, unless you want 
him naked.’ 

“They did so, an’ I ain’t seen Papeeyon 
since. He was all up in the air; he never un- 
derstood it. I’ll bet it’s the romance of his life, 
to this day.” 

“And afterwards?” 

“Ha! ha! They never fastened it on me; an’ 
no one ever heard, — save Patrick here. You 
see, there were no proofs. I got off with two 
days’ solitary, for stragglin’! 

“ ‘It’s some sailorman’s joke,’ says the Skipper 
to the First Luff, in private, ‘an’ I’m thinkin’ 
that if it hadn’t been for Biddlebrick we should 
both ’a’ saved bunches o’ dignity. Curses on 
Biddlebrick,’ says he, ‘an’ his theories.’ 

“ ‘Cordially the same,’ says the First Luff. 

“But The Bacterium never was himself again. 
[6S] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

I think he was on, an’ just helpless. For some 
reason, he left us in Manila Bay, not long after, 
for a bum gunboat, — I hope they can digest 
him. Fm leanin’ out of a port as he goes down 
the gangway, an’ he sees me there. Says I, 
very soft: 

“* A jew , m'soo/ 

“No one heard but him. An’ I smiled at him 
like I loved him half to death. . . 


4* 


[ 66 ] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 


W HEN she arrived in New York harbor 
from Spring target practice, the U. S. S. 
Oklahoma , First Rate, got scant space in the news- 
papers. She had won back the great-guns record 
from the Fleet at large; her cinnamon bear mas- 
cot had been buried overboard; the one-pound 
Hotchkiss guns in her fighting tops had been 
replaced by range-finders, a la Japonaise. That 
was all the published news, and to me it seemed 
inadequate. For, before she had joined the 
Fleet for target practice, the Oklahoma had 
been on a congenial mission in the Mediter- 
ranean Sea. There had been, all about her stout, 
steel sides, the thrumming of guitars, the laugh- 
ter of Latin women, the popping of rockets, and 
the crashing of salutes to royalty. What won- 
derful, new, informal histories must be hidden, 

[67] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

now, between her decks! I knew of two tale- 
spinners dwelling there, who would have some- 
thing to relate to me. With them I made a twi- 
light rendezvous in Sands Street, which runs 
down to the eagle-topped gates of the Brooklyn 
Navy Yard. 

The evening was still and warm. The air was 
full of echoing evening noises: children’s shrill 
cries, a street piano’s meager rattle, the rip- 
ple of boots on stone, — for a thin stream of 
men was flowing from the Navy Yard: work- 
men out of the shops and six o’clock liberty men 
off of the ships. Presently, from this column, 
rolled briskly Shorty, my seaman of the Okla- 
homa, looking in his loose blue very clean and 
cool, as was his habit, and pleasantly impudent, 
as was his custom. He wasted little time on 
greetings, being, as I could perceive, full of 
malicious joy. 

“I’ve just seen a very disgustin’ sight,” he said, 
catching me by the arm, “very disgustin’! Do 
you care to be nauseated — would you like your 
stummick turned for you? Look here, then.” 

He led me to one of the open, lower windows 
of the Sailormen’s Y. M. C. A. building. In- 
side, alone at a table in the dining-room, facing 
us but unconscious of our scrutiny, sat a big, 
[ 68 ] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

lean, sandy Irishman in blue. He was devour- 
ing strawberry shortcake, and raising to his 
freckled, melancholy face, from time to time, a 
glass of milk. As he made play with those 
viands, he seemed mostly moving mouth, jump- 
ing Adam’s apple, and red, bony hands. 

“Aha!” remarked Shorty in hollow, carry- 
ing tones. “The solitary debauchee! The 
coarse, unblushin’ rooey!” 

“Roue,” I suggested, sotto voce. 

“The coarse, unblushin’ rooay!” distinctly 
repeated Shorty, with a smack of lips. 

Patrick looked up from his plate, cocked his 
head, and stared out at us. Slowly, over his 
working countenance spread recognition. He 
mumbled thickly through his shortcake. 

“Shame!” shouted Shorty, leaping and wav- 
ing his arms. “Cussin’ in the Y. M. C. A.! 
Have him out! Where’s the devil-dodgin’ deck 
officer? ” 

Patrick, lounging calmly from the dining- 
room, joined us. Shaking hands with me, en- 
tirely ignoring his shipmate, he remarked: 

“A very pritty evenin’ cornin’ on, eh? It’ll 
be a dizzy night along the Isezak’cho — only, 
bein’ daylight there, you’d largely lose the 
effect, I’m thinkin’.” 


[69] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“All polite-o! ” from Shorty, snub nose tilted. 
“Strawberries an’ milk an’ a lisp. You blither- 
in’, hairy ol’ Mayparty! ” 

Patrick continued to look at me. 

“Do I hear a squeakin’? ” he inquired, pleas- 
antly. “Did you bring a dog wid you, then-^- 
ah! You should fetch a chair along, Shorty, my 
fine, little squideen, to stand on when you wish 
to be noticed.” 

Shorty chuckled gently. 

“You ol’ effete milk-swallower,” he said, af- 
fectionately, linking elbows with his friend. 
Then, suddenly: 

“Well, what’s the course?” 

“It’s only thirty minutes to the Island — ” 

“An’ there goes the equipage. Full speed 
does it! ” 

Over rough cobblestones we chased an open 
trolley car. In its last seat, we made ourselves 
comfortable amid much smoke. The hot, stale 
night breeze caught that smoke-cloud — its ele- 
ments were Durham, canteen stogie, and latakhia 
— and blew it out to the rear platform, where 
suddenly burst forth, in chorus, profane excla- 
mations of astonishment. 

I asked at large: 

“And how’s the Happy-Ship? ” 

[70] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

“You may ’a’ heard somethin’ of a record?” 
chirruped Patrick, with the calmness of great 
pride. “Make no mistake, ’twas our turret.” 

I shook his big hand. 

“You’ve lost the bear, too, I hear.” 

“Who — little Archibaldus Fleachaser? Why, 
Archie did his dyin’ stunt when we were in the 
Meditherranean ; that’s ancient history you’re 
steppin’ into now. We’ve had an’ lost mascots 
a-plenty since him.” 

Shorty, on my other side, suddenly wriggled 
with delight. 

“Patrick,” he murmured huskily, “I’m goin’ 
to tell him that one, though he won’t believe it.” 

“About Charles MacTavish Noble?” 

“Nothin’ less. About Charles, an’ the Gor- 
dons at Gibraltar, an’ the Spanish King at 
Cadiz. An * , when I’ve done, he’ll have me for a 
bigger liar than ever.” 

“Who was Charles MacTavish Noble?” 

“He was our mascot after little Archie. For 
one week we had him, an’ near enough he came 
to plungin’ us into war with two separate foreign 
powers. You won’t believe that we saw a 
Highlander regiment ready to swim aboard us 
with their bayonets in their teeth, on his account. 
An’ as for the Spanish King — ” 

[71] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

Shorty, clapping his hand across his mouth, 
hid an amazing facial convulsion. 

“Listen. We came from Naples to Mar- 
seilles, an’ from there to Gibraltar. Ever in 
Naples? I was in Naples all one evenin’, an’ 
the streets are disgustin’ly rough for poor, tired 
feet. Likewise, I was at Marseilles, but there 
was no liberty; the most I saw o’ that place was 
a bunch o’ big, stone docks, an’ a dame in yallow 
tights, on the end o’ one o’ them, tyin’ herself 
into half-hitches, on a chunk o’ carpet.” 
“What!” I cried. 

“You see, Patrick, he has me for a liar al- 
ready, an’ I ain’t laid tongue to that ship’s 
mascot scandal! I tell you she was kinkin’ her- 
self up into half-hitches an’ bowline-knots on 
the end o’ the dock, with a crowd standin’ round ; 
an’ she had on yallow tights, for, I says to Harah, 
while watchin’ her out o’ the same port) — ” 

“You mean she was a contorsioniste? ” 

“Well, I’m usually leery o’ callin’ names, par- 
ticularly where the fair sex is concerned — ” 
“Whisht!” murmured Patrick, suddenly open- 
ing his eyes. “Get on to Gibraltar, Don Wan, 
an’ omit that feminine scenery, ong route.” 

“Ha! Don Wan, hey? I remember, now, in 
that connection, when Patrick here was lally- 

[72] 


'THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

gaggin’ about in Eastern waters, there was a very 
handsome chawcolate-colored Manila belle 
came down on the string-piece, one day, smok- 
in’ a seegar, an’ lookin’ over the liberty parties 
for her husband — her red-headed, flannel- 
mouthed, double-faced husband, says she. An’ 
Patrick, who was bein’ towed ashore in a work- 
in’ boat, when he put eye to her, he lay down in 
the bottom — ” 

A big, freckled hand, swiftly reaching across 
me, seized Shorty by his neckerchief. 

“As I was sayin’,” shouted Shorty, hastily, 
“when we came to Gibraltar — 

“There were three British cruisers an’ about 
half a hundred torpedo boats inside the break- 
water. Company manners we kept, an’ the 
coxswains o’ the runnin’ boats got all worn 
out standin’ an’ touchin’ caps at the English, 
passin’ by in their cutters. We had the Cap- 
tain o’ the Hercules aboard, an’ the Captain 
o’ the Caligula , an’ the Captain o’ the 
Mercury — but, say, that’s no proper name for 
a ship: that’s a medicine! However, they 
boarded us, an’ Ol’ Particular, takin’ his 
chapeau out o’ tin, he boarded them with 
every ceremony. An’ Patrick an’ I went 
ashore, that evenin’, to inhale the scenery 

[73] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

up an’ down the Alameda, whilst a red band 
played, an’ the girls clicked by on their high 
heels, with combs a foot tall stuck into their 
back hair. Those girls! Ah! Save us, what 
eyes I” 

“There now,” remarked Patrick, dryly, to me, 
“if there’s a gurrul widin sight of a tale o’ 
Shorty’s, he’ll drag her into it an’ go on wheez- 
ing over her like a force draft. ‘What eyes,’ 
says he! Faith, what hands, he’d be better 
sayin. A good smack on the jaw he took off 
one o’ them, that night, the giddy, sawed-off 
flirt!” 

“I only asked her the time of evening’!” cried 
Shorty, passionately. 

“Thrue for you; but how? ‘I ask you,’ says 
he, wid a smirk, ‘because I see very well you’ve 
got your clocks wid you.’ ” 

“ ‘With weemin, a bold an’ dashin’ air,’ ” 
muttered Shorty, evidently quoting, in limp ex- 
tenuation . . . “But, as I was goin’ to say: 
whilst blowin’ up an’ down the Alameda, we met 
three soldiers in kilts — Highlanders, Gordons — 
very snappy lookin’ men, with tight white 
jackets, an’ gaiters, an’ bare knees, an’ dinky 
little caps hangin’ over an ear. Good mixers, 
those Gordons: ten seconds after borrowin’ a 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

light off ’em, we were sneakin’ up on a drink, 
five abreast . . 

“What’s that street where the Pipes an’ Drums 
march through at sundown?” queried Patrick, 
drowsily. “A street full o’ little garglin’- 
parlors, some three hundred an’ chu, I should 
say, startin’ at one end an’ emergin’ at the other, 
— if possible.” 

“The first of ’em, at any rate, was runnin’ 
over with Gordons,” said Shorty, “ an ’ with them 
was Charles MacTavish Noble. 

“It was a little wine shop, you see — Cafe de 
Bomba — full o’ smoke an’ kilts. An’, in the 
midst o’ the kilts, all hunched up on a chair, sits 
a small, hairy gorilla in the Gordons’ uniform. 
The only thing on earth as black as him was 
the galley flue; so says I, cornin’ up: 

“ Why, if there ain’t Charlie Noble!’ 

“ ‘He is not,’ says a big Scotchman, with red 
hair an’ a jaw like a horse. ‘His name is Mac- 
Tavish.’ 

“ ‘His name is Charles MacTavish Noble,’ 
says I, ‘an’ I should know, for I’ve got his own 
cousin here with me — ’ ” 

“Another crack like that — ” warned Patrick, 
gazing, with half shut eyes, past me at Shorty. 
Shorty, moved stealthily away. 

[ 75 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“We sat down among the Gordons,” he con- 
tinued, “an’ between sips we heard the history 
o’ little Charlie. 

“He was caught, hoppin’ an’ skippin’ across 
the spine o’ the Rock, in his early infancy, by a 
Red Battery. The Red Battery trained him up 
to be a fine, manly little fella, wearin’ breeches 
an’ gettin’ ballerino whenever he could lay hand 
to a bottle o’ beer, an’ devourin’ black tobacco 
like a youman Christian. But when the Red 
Battery took ship to go home, little Charlie was 
missin’. They sailed without him, cussin’ back 
over the taffrail at the Gordons an’ swearin’ 
they’d pinched him. Which they had, at that — 
breeches, bad habits an’ all. For, when next he 
appeared to public view, he came flouncin’ forth 
in kilts an’ a service cap, as mascot to those 
Highlanders. An’ so he’d stayed till the night 
we met them. 

“I wish you could ’a’ seen him, sittin’ all 
hunched up on his chair in that shop, in the 
midst o’ those big, sandy Gordons, with his 
black paw coiled round a bottle o’ Bass, lookin’ 
as mournful as Patrick, here, under stoppage o’ 
pay. ‘There’s a little fella,’ says I to myself, 
‘an ichi-ban mascot— a number one mascot — that 
makes our late Archie look rotten.’ An’, with 

[76] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

that, a feelin’ crawls over me that I could 
swipe Charles MacTavish Noble with the most 
voluptuous relish. 

“We got very pleasant with the Gordons — 
Patrick an’ I — very pleasant an’ musical. The 
Gordons sang a song called ‘Pibroch o’ Cor- 
richie,’ an’ Patrick sang ‘Savourneen Delish,’ an’ 
I obliged with ‘Don’t Censor Her, She Done It 
for the Best.’ Then we had a speech off 
Charles MacTavish Noble’s chaperon — the one 
with the jaw like a horse — prayin’ for war. 
Then we all lay back an’ put our arms round 
each other’s necks an’ sang ‘London Town.’ 
Little Charlie joined in with a whistling an’ 
chirpin’ that Patrick mistook for the bos’n 
pipin’ down hammocks, — so he started to pull 
off his shoes. The next thing you know, we 
were scufflin’ down the most cobble-some street 
that was ever laid out in front of a pair o’ 
weak legs. There were only four of us left: 
there was Patrick, an’ I, an’ the big, horse- 
jawed Gordon locked together, an’ little Charlie 
Noble taggin’ behind, bein’ yanked along by 
the paw. 

At the bottom o’ that street lay a sea wall. 
An’ ’way out beyond, I saw a little string o’ 
shroud lights, high up in the dark, winkin’ con- 

[77] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

tinu’lly: three reds an’ a white, three reds an’ 
a white, three reds an’ a white. 

“ ‘Patrick,’ says I, ‘the acumen o’ those signal 
boys is disgustin’, — waitin’ for us to heave in 
sight, an’ then callin’ the last boat back. You 
an’ I, Patrick, have broke liberty.’ 

“ ‘Forget it,’ says the big Gordon, rockin’ 
about an’ tryin’ to light a cigar in the middle. 
‘I don’t doubt there’s a patrol lookin’ for Mac- 
Tavish an’ me; but d’you see any pearls o’ grief 
in my eyes? MacTavish’s face ain’t visibly dis- 
torted, either, is it? Take a look. We ain’t dis- 
turbed; let ’em come. The sooner, the better; I 
want ’em to see this before it’s worn off any.’ 
D’ you know, I ruther liked that fella. 

“Says Patrick: 

“ ‘All well enough for him; but I’ve got good 
conduct badges to loose. Let’s take a chance at 
the landin’, wherever it lies. Ol’ Bare-knees 
here’ll guide us.’ 

“ ‘Sure,’ says the big Gordon, ‘I’ll guide you.’ 
An’, with that, he starts off, whoopin’ an’ 
boundin’, little Charlie bumpin’ the cobbles at 
the end of his arm, an’ us clatterin’ behind. I’ll 
bet that was the neat procession, looked at in 
cold blood! 

“Slammin’ round a curve, the big Gordon 

[78] 



SI id i n after me over the cobbles, sittirT down and actin 

very reluctant.” 





































































































































































































. 




































































































































































































































































































THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

slips up, like a house failin’, an’ takes it on his 
chin. As for little Charlie, he flies over his 
guardian’s head, most spectacular, an’ sits down 
hard, quite some ways on, with his kilts up 
under his arms. 

“ ‘For’d, lads, an’ at ’em!’ wheezes the big 
Gordon, wagglin’ his hands up at us, from 
where he lay. ‘Follow the pipes, but harkee, 
don’t forget to tell the stretchers o’ my where- 
abouts.’ 

“Peerin’ down the street, I saw the landin’. 
Patrick stops half-way, to find out what was 
keepin’ me. I had hold o’ little Charlie by the 
paw, an’ he was slidin’ after me over the 
cobbles, still sittin’ down and actin’ very re- 
luctant. 

“ ‘What’s eatin’ you?’ yells Patrick. ‘Here’s 
the lanch yet. Drop him an’ run.’ 

“ ‘He says he’s cornin’ aboard,’ I shouts, givin’ 
little Charlie a yank that nearly took off his 
arm. ‘He says he’s sick o’ bein’ corrupted 
by these red-necked Scotch bally-dancers, an’ 
wishes to be a battleship mascot, amongst his 
equals.’ I gave Charlie another jerk that 
discouraged him with sittin’ down, an’ the 
next minute he came along at a gallop. We 
pounded down on the landin’ just as Carrol, 

[79] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

the coxswain o’ the lanch, was layin’ his hand 
on the indicator. 

“ ‘Holy Murder!’ howls Carrol, tryin’ to duck 
behind the wheel. ‘What’s that with you?’ 

“ ‘He’s a mascot,’ says I, heavin’ him into the 
coxswain’s box. 

“ ‘He’ll never be allowed,’ says Carrol. ‘He 
should not be on this lanch. You’ll be reduced, 
Shorty; you’re in liquor; I can smell it from 
here.’ 

“ ‘You wish you had it yourself,’ says I. ‘As 
for Charles MacTavish Noble, he shall go 
aboard with permission, an’ presently he shall 
be enrolled, all in order. Mascots amuse the 
men, says the Skipper, an’ must be borne with. 
He’s no end more respectable than little Archi- 
baldus, at that; I haven’t seen him scratch him- 
self once, since I met him.’ 

“ ‘Very well,’ says Carrol, lookin’ at me an’ 
lickin’ his lips. You see, he was anticipatin’ 
trouble. 

“We came alongside the ship. You’ll recol- 
lect, perhaps, abaft o’ the port gangway, there’s 
a sea ladder runs up the side, past one o’ the 
guns, on the gun-deck? Well, all of a sudden, 
out from between my legs, with a squeak, whips 
little Charles. He takes the gunwale without 
[80] 


THE ICHI-BAN, MASCOT 

touching swings up that ladder, an’ pops, head 
first, in through the gun-deck port, — all before 
I had time to so much as make a pass at him. 

“‘Aha! Now then,’ says Carrol, smirkin’ at 
me. Tt’s my unpleasant duty to make a report 
of this, on touchin’ the deck. A gorilla at large 
in the gun-deck, sir, brought out by so an’ so, 
against the urgent advice o’ the coxswain, sir.’ 
He irritated me, that Carrol, an’ I handed him 
a few remarks, — just a few, but very thorough- 
going An’, as luck must have it, the chief 
Jimmy Legs heard me, from topside. 

“I was half-way into my hammock when our 
Division Officer sent for me in his cabin, for a 
short heart-to-heart. I found him sittin’ on the 
edge of his bunk, with his blouse hooked up 
over his pink pajamas. 

“ ‘What’s this,’ says he, ‘about a gorilla 
aboard?’ 

“I told him how I found little Charlie hangin’ 
round the landin’, expressin’ ongwee, and how, 
considerin’ him to be the perfect picture of a 
mascot, I brought him out. Likewise, how he 
climbed in through the gun-deck port, before 
I’d got permission for him. 

“ ‘He isn’t to be found, so I’m informed,’ says 
the Division Officer, lookin’ at me uncommonly 

[81] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

stern. ‘He’s at large on this ship, an’ in hidin’. 
Your actions are unusual,’ says he, ‘not to say 
spiritus frumenti , an’ to-morrow mornin’ I shall 
take pleasure in makin’ Ol’ Particular’s eyes 
stick out, with all this — ’ ” 

“He said that!” 

“Gee, no; I’m tonin’ his language down. 
Those words are mine; his were simply dis- 
gustin’ ! 

“Say, would you believe it — from the minute 
he popped in through that port, little Charlie 
was clean evaporated! No one on the gun-deck 
saw him then or afterwards. You know what 
chance a grown man ud have, hidin’ aboard a 
battleship. How did little Charlie do it? 

“In the mornin’, the whole ship was wise that 
we should have a mascot somewhere, but where?. 
On my word, the Oklahoma was beat for him 
from funnels to double bottom; I think the 
clinkers shifted about ten tons in the bunkers; 
the black gang went peerin’ about the works of 
her with wrenches for self-defense; an’ the 
Fifth Division was actu’lly unlockin’ magazines 
an’ shellrooms — those bein’ the last places where 
no one had looked. Ol’ Particular sits up be- 
hind his cut-glass ink bottles, in private, an’ 
chews the ends of his whiskers. 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

“ ‘Oh, no,’ says he — so I’ve been told— this 
can’t be a battleship — it’s a pantomime theayter! 
A gorilla hidin’ aboard, now! He’ll starve, an’ 
expire, an’ the quarantine officers ’ll come an’ 
boot us out into open sea.’ 

“ We’ll certainly find him then, sir, how- 
ever,’ the Navigator says, soft but hopeful. 

“ Who is this knockabout clown that brought 
him aboard?’ barks the Skipper. ‘Aha! I 
know him! An’ this ain’t the first time, 
either! But I’m goin’ to make it the last, if I 
have to bury him!’ Nicely spoken an’ very 
comfortin’ to Shorty, was it not? Yes, indeed, 
it was not. 

“Cunnion, the mail orderly, on goin’ ashore 
that mornin’, meets a big Gordon in a quiet 
place near the post office. ‘Where’s MacTavish, 
you thief in the night?’ says the Gordon, an’ 
hands Cunnion a black eye that he brings back 
an’ airs as Exhibit A in the causes for interna- 
tional war. Five Kilts came down on the 
landin’ an’ danced, cussin’ the first runnin’ crew 
that touched there. ‘Where’s that big, bright- 
red Irishman,’ they whoops, ‘an’ that handsome, 
intelligent-lookin’ little fella called Shorty? 
Send ’em ashore, till we do a fling on the pits 
o’ their stummicks — you double-faced pirates, 

[83] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

you!’ Carrol, cornin’ back, reports on it. ‘The 
entente cordialle,’ says he, ‘is astonishin’.’ 

“Another day we stayed there, an’ I’m told — 
I was in retirement then, technic’lly for bein’ 
heard blackguardin’ Carrol in the lanch — that 
it was no end vivacious. Patrick, here, turned 
himself into a youman ‘extra’: every time he 
came below, he sneaked up to the door o’ the 
brig an’ passed the latest news through the air- 
holes. 

“ ‘Scrubbin’ sails an’ boat-covers, topside,’ 
he’d say — ‘an’ four Gordons in a dingey along- 
side, cursin’ up with words I never heard be- 
fore. It’s an education . . . Carrol was am- 
bushed on the landin’ an’ soaked with a volley 
o’ stale lemons — he’s as sickenin’ a sight as ever 
you saw. . . . The Skipper’s pretendin’ to look 
for structural weaknesses in the hull, — but we 
know he thinks little Charlie’s lurkin’ there . . . 
A lieutenant has gone ashore to the Gordons’ 
officers’ quarters to swear on the Book they shall 
have little Charlie the minute he’s found . . . 
Fatty Mullins is in the sick-bay, havin’ the 
surgeon stick rods up his nose to straighten it — 
he's just back from the beach.’ 

“Next mornin’ we left — an’ little Charlie not 
caught. Can you beat it? The Skipper said 

[84] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

the brute had swum ashore^ the ship havin’ 
been done with a fine-tooth comb. So we sailed 
away leavin’ a line o’ Gordons hoppin’ along 
the sea-wall after us, wavin’ their fists, an’ 
roarin’ into the wind like so many hyenas. 

“Presently, we arrived at the charmin’ port o’ 
Cadiz . . . By which time, I was at large 
again — ” 

“An’ very popular,” interjected Patrick, 
dryly. 

“Yep; there was Mullins an’ Cunnion 
blamin’ their noses an’ eyes on me, — likewise, 
whoever else had suffered violence ashore, I was 
the one that had it taken out of him. However, 
avoidin’ details — 

“We came to Cadiz. Needless to say, I didn’t 
noticeably disembark. I saw my Cadiz off the 
deck; but judgin’ from samples that rowed out 
in boats, with zitters, singin’ ‘Besos y Pesos' an’ 
makin’ eyes, it was somethin’ of a place. 

“Now, the King o’ Spain was there, by 
chance, on the protected cruiser Don Wan de 
Vera. The second mornin’, all at once the 
Oklahoma began to crawl with business. It was 
Saturday — ‘inspect bags an’ beddin’ ’ — but it 
was forget that, an’ tumble out, an’ go crazy 
with brass rags an’ ki-yis, — an’ the six-pounder 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

salutin’ shells bein’ brought up, an’ the signal 
boys draggin’ the flag-bags for a Spanish ens’n. 
So, by this an’ that, we knew whom we’d have 
aboard. 

“The crew turns into blue — full marine guard 
to be paraded, et cet'ra. The wardroom began 
to show special full dress. The Captain’s or- 
derly, goin’ down to the marine country to 
primp, remarked, in passin’ by: 

“ ‘There’s typhoons in Ol’ Particular’s cabin. 
His best chapeau’s gone, an’ his dress pants 
are split up the back most mysterious, an’ that 
Jap valley’s gettin’ his. Who’d go an’ swipe a 
chapeau off the Skipper, or split his pants? But 
everyone’s gettin’ that bug, from the Skipper 
down! Look at the berth-deck cook, shoutin’ 
that all his buns were pinched over night! An’ 
Mulligan, complainin’ yesterday that the can- 
teen lock was broke an’ a bunch o’ pies an’ plug 
tobacco gone! What do they think this is — a 
floatin’ reformatory?’ 

“I said nothin’, bein’ suddenly struck with a 
thought that made me quite sick to my 
stummick. 

“By an’ By, all havin’ been arranged an’ tidied, 
the bos’n pipes quarters. The Spanish flag was 
ready to be broke out at the maintruck; the 
[ 86 ] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

band lolled about on their horns, with their 
mouths pursed up for the Spanish anthem; eight 
side-boys stood at the gangway. Ol’ Particular 
straddled down the quarter-deck in his second- 
best chapeau, an’ all the officers followin’. A 
bunch o’ silence ensued . . . 

“Across the water came a barge, with the 
King o’ Spain sittin’ up in the sheets all 
twiddlin’, in the sun, with medals an’ gold 
lace. But Shorty was lookin’, all the while, 
straight an’ glassy, at Ol’ Particular’s second- 
best chapeau. 

“The drums cut loose with four flourishes; 
the Spanish ens’n was broke out aloft; the 
Skipper chucked himself into his uniform. An’ 
on the quartexdeck stood the Spanish King. 

“The whole ship was frozen at the salute, 
savin’ Ol’ Particular, who advanced on his toes. 
The Spanish King tapped his chapeau, an’ 
shook. A very solemn scene. I’ll leave it to 
Patrick. An act o’ history, — the war forgotten, 
friends once more, an’ so on . . . 

“An’ then, lookin’ across at the row opposite, 
I saw Fatty Mullins gapin’ up over my head, 
into the air, as if he saw somethin’ horrible. 
Then I saw Carrol, next to him, look up an’ go 
green all over his face. Then, the whole row 

[87] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

across from me looked up an’ dropped their 
jaws. An’ then the marine guard, aft, looked up 
an’ wobbled their guns; an’ the side-boys, 
further aft still, looked up an’ groaned out loud; 
an’, at that, the officers, the Skipper, an’ the 
Spanish King looked up, with their eyes hangin’ 
out on their faces. An’ not a sound out o’ the 
len’th an’ breadth o’ the battleship Oklahoma , 
except Patrick, standin’ not far from me, cryin’ 
out ‘Holy!’ all at once, in a heart-renderin’ 
voice. 

“Leanin’ over the edge o’ the fightin’ top o’ 
the mainmast, regardin’ us, as blazay as ever you 
saw, was Charles MacTavish Noble. He was 
wearin’ Ol’ Particular’s best chapeau cocked 
over one ear, an’ one sleeve o’ his white Gor- 
don’s jacket, an’ that’s all. He had a lump in 
his face from half a plug o’ tobacco. His 
whiskers were full o’ canteen pie. 

“There wasn’t a stir out o’ the whole ship, — 
just a gapin’ up at Charles MacTavish Noble. 
He looked down, like a swell takin’ notice of a 
lot o’ hogs. Then, impudently leanin’ one 
elbow on the edge o’ the fightin’ top, an’ 
knockin’ Old Particular’s chapeau further over 
his ear, he delib’rately stuck out his tongue at 
the King o’ Spain!” 


[ 88 ] 


THE ICHI-BAN MASCOT 

“Shorty!’’ 

“Ask Patrick,” said Shorty, calmly. 

“Would you hear the truth, then?” Patrick 
inquired, raising himself, and staring stonily at 
Shorty. “Well then, he’s a—” 

“I ain’t!” roared Shorty, drowning out his 
voice. 

“Now,” I said, “if I’m to swallow any of it, 
you must clear up a few details. For instance, 
afterward — ” 

“In a crate,” began Patrick, “neatly ad- 
dressed — ” 

“Oh, say, ain’t that enough?” piped Shorty. 
“Ain’t that what you’d call a situation? Don’t 
ask us to spoil it! Besides, what a thing to have 
happen aboard our ship. Draw a veil! Draw 
a veil!” 

“Patrick?” 

Patrick was staring ahead, into the indigo 
night, to where, under a mellow, tremulous, far- 
extending nimbus, great fantastic twists of archi- 
tecture blazed as if constructed of white fire. 

“There she lies,” he murmured, sucking his 
teeth in esthetic joy. “Ah — you were sayin’?” 

“That story — ” 

“Well — ” He glanced at Shorty. Slowly 
over his face spread a sweet Irish smile. 

[89] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“In the main, then, he’s a faithful histhorian 
o’ the Happy-Ship,” said Patrick. “Faithful, 
though prolific, an’ accurate, though — ah — 
fertile.” 

With the cool, salt breeze, flavored by sea and 
fields, blowing in our faces, swiftly we slid from 
gloom to brightness and, at length, into the 
throbbing, glittering, white heart of the Island. 

“A has with yarns,” cried Shorty, briskly, 
springing down on the ground and hitching up 
his trousers, “who’d tell ’em when he’s got the 
chance to make ’em? Come on! Let’s take an’ 
stand this place on one end!” 


IV 

PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

S HORTY and Patrick, in liberty blue and 
new, gilt hat-ribbons, were captives of 
mine in an East Side cafe of Teutonic flavor. 
|With a table I had penned them in an alcove, 
and had posted near them a stout sentinel in 
white and black. I was determined to be 
evicted from the balconies of no more theaters 
that evening, — a consequence natural even at an 
Amateur Night in Fourteenth Street, when one’s 
companions, missing an inefficient actor with* 
their missiles, damage the scenery. 

My prisoners sat in that cramped attitude 
from which Americans, alone, get comfort: on 
their backbones, their knees on a level with 
their chins, their shins wedged against the table’s 
edge. Their lean, brown faces revealed smug 
satisfaction, — at recollection, doubtless, of their 

[91] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

disgrace. It was Shorty who voiced that state 
of mind. 

“At any rate/’ said he, sucking his teeth com- 
placently, “the crowd was with us.” 

I remembered how, at that shameful moment, 
the gallery mob, approving my friends’ em- 
phatic form of criticism, had clambered up on 
its seats to bawl profane protests at our off- 
taking. 

“The noise was tumble,” reflected Shorty, 
proudly. “Not only in the pea-nut, but in the 
orchestra as well. Piercin’ screams from the 
orchestra. Prob’ly society girls, gone off their 
topknots at our puril . . 

“I think it was a guy fell out o’ the balcony,” 
remarked big Patrick, calmly. 

“No!” cried Shorty, his face brightening. 
“You don’t say! Out o’ the balcony, hey! Just 
delib’rately, I suppose! Patrick, don’t you 
let me forget to buy a yellow journal in the 
mornin’.” 

“Do you think they’ll print it?” inquired 
Patrick of me, seriously. 

“With the names?” asked Shorty. “The only 
time I ever got into the papers,” he said plain- 
tively, “they spelt my name so that I was a liar 
every time I passed the clippin’ round. That 

[92] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

was a night at Barnum’s. . . . Have you got the 
makings? Thanks.” 

After our sentinel had come and gone: 

“What about that night at Barnum’s?” 

“Oh, that,” said Shorty, sliding down on his 
spine again, his glass trembling on one high 
knee, “was nothin’ but the denou’mont! An’ the 
rest of it’s spread over half the world; too long, 
with my liberty up at one, an’ Wallabout Chan- 
nel miles away . . 

Perhaps I stared at this sudden virtue. 

“There’ll be no come-back on your ship to- 
morrow,” I tempted him. “You know your 
skipper’s ashore, at the big dinner downtown?” 

“No danger this time,” said Shorty, cynically. 
“He was tight at the last one an’ subsequently 
made a show of himself.” 

“A show of himself! ” 

“Well, all I know: afterwards, cornin’ up the 
starboard ladder from the lanch, he slides down 
three steps on his buttons. An’ at that, he says, 
very fretfully: 

“T wish,’ he says, ‘those Jap coolies would 
quit oilin’ the stairs in these places.’ ” 

“Conclusive, eh?” drawled Patrick. “But 
what volumes o’ histhory are those, Shorty, to 
take so long tellin’? ” 


[93] 


7 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“Well . . . Have you forgotten our 4 Picture- 
Gallery George? ” 

Patrick smiled, suddenly for him. 

“Ould George, the Work-of-Art? Faith, it 
takes me back! Yokohama, Kobe — ” 

“ ‘ Nagasaki , Yokohama. 

“‘Kobe maru hoi !’ — chanted Shortly, nasally 
and surprisingly geisha-like. “The whole bunch 
o’ ports, each participatin’ in the ruin o’ Picture- 
Gallery George . . 

“Take the credit; ’twas you hounded him to 
his grave.” 

“Grave! You’d think he was dead. He’s a 
great man in his line to-day, makin’ a fortune, 
an’ me to thank. I’m his philanthropist. I 
made him what he is.” 

“You did that,” assented Patrick, grinning. 

“An’ what return does he make when he sees 
me long afterwards,” declaimed Shorty, passion- 
ately, “an’ him all bloated up in the midst of his 
successes? On sight, he tries to jump through 
me. It needed three cops — 

“Wait; I’ll tell it from the beginnin’. 

“You see, George should never ’a’ gone into 
the Service. He mistook his callin’ : he was no 
sailorman; he was a born bum actor. One o’ 
those smooth, oily guys with a shaved neck, an’ 

[94] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

a bang he could chew the end of. Every move 
a picture. An’ stuck on his shape? Say! In 
the shower-baths he was forever humpin’ up his 
shoulders an’ pinchin’ his muscles, tryin’ to get 
a hand. He had himself mugged at a photog- 
rapher’s in Yokohama, in a pair o’ swimmin’ 
tights, with his arms folded so as to bulge out 
his biceps, an’ a grin on his face to make you 
sick to your stummick with pity for him. One 
day the bunch, washin’ up, begun to remark 
what a finely developed chest George had. An’ 
George, havin’ swelled himself out with 
wind as far as he’d go, hadn’t the heart to 
let it out an’ collapse an’ spoil the tableau. 
He got quite faint, just from suffocatin’ him- 
self; he had to lie down in the suds and be 
slapped. We thought his heart had stopped 
on him. 

“That’s the kind George was . . . till I got 
through with him.” 

“I gather that you disliked George? ” 

Patrick smiled discreetly. 

“I couldn’t bear him,” said Shorty with ap- 
parent frankness. 

“Why? ” 

Patrick took elaborate interest in the lighting 
of his cigar. Shorty drawled: 

[95] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“Well, this George, you see, he had a notion 
when girls were concerned — ” 

“Ah, which one was it? The New York girl 
in Hongkong who used to cry to hear the Ele- 
vated again? That pretty, red-headed one at 
Manila? Or some other, at home? 

“Not me; not me!” protested Shorty, blush- 
ing. “It was a friend o’ mine. An’ George, 
with his shaved neck an’ his hair all perfumed 
off the barber, fixes my friend with her. He 
tells her to look at the tattooin’ on my friend’s 
arm. 

“At that there weren’t but three or four initials 
there, an’ one ‘Ada,’ an’ a brace o’ bleedin’ hearts 
on a skewer. Don’t suppose you ever saw Kelly, 
the bos’n’s mate? In his young days he got him- 
self so covered with girls’ initials an’ silly mot- 
toes, that he looks like a tree in a picnic grounds. 
An’ yet, it makes him solid at home. His wife 
thinks he was the whole thing in his youth ; she 
can hardly imagine how she came to get him 
away from the rest. Ain’t they funny, though? ” 

Taking advantage of that moment of specula- 
tion, I reached for Shorty’s left wrist. But he, 
suddenly comprehending, defended himself in 
a frenzy. The clatter of glasses and furniture 
was prodigious. It ended in Shorty’s personal 

[96] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

victory as, flaming red, he braced his chair in 
the corner, and threatened with his brandished 
heels. 

“If you’ll treat me right, now,” he said, pa- 
thetically, “I’ll go on an’ tell this. I’m tryin’ to 
entertain you, an’ you assault me. Anyone but 
you, I’d say it was hardly gentlemanly. 

“I was goin’ to say how this George wasn’t 
satisfied with what he’d already done. On 
cruise, whenever we came into port, George 
would make out that he’d been dealt a letter 
from that girl who couldn’t stand for year-old 
tattoo marks. He’d come round wagglin’ a 
chunk o’ light-blue paper, an’ making out to 
read it. Once, on the gun-deck, he said to me: 

“ ‘Congratulate me, Shorty, I’m goin’ to be 
a married man when my term’s up.’ 

“‘Oh, are you?’ says I. ‘Well, I dare say 
you’ll make a lovely bunch as one,’ I says. 

“ ‘Nothin’ but,’ he says. ‘The day’s set, an’ 
I’m as happy as a lark.’ An’ he shuffled a clog 
on the linoleum, to prove it. ‘An’ I consider 
myself very fortunate,’ he says, ‘that I’m not 
disfigured with the relics of a disorderly past, 
to shock a sweet, young girl.’ 

“Thinks I: ‘Wait, Shorty. Don’t soak him. 
Somethin’ longer an’ more lingerin’. Somethin’ 

[97] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

delicately done an’ piled on, little by little, on 
the sly. Somethin’ far more worthy of you, 
Shorty, than mere fisticuffs. An’ while thinkin’ 
so, on my word, I begun to grin in his face. It 
was just that thought, you see: that sooner or 
later I’d find the proper answer to that disor- 
derly past remark, an’ how surprised he’d be, 
after clean forgettin’ it was ever due him. 

“We were in Yokohama harbor then. Pat- 
rick, do you remember that night in the Isezak’- 
cho — Theaytre Street? ” 

Patrick, cap off, somewhat joss-like behind a 
cloud of smoke, nodded benignantly. 

“An’ do you remember that archery-booth be- 
side the theayter trimmed in crimson streamers? 
How Double-Life Stubbs an’ that crowd were 
inside, seein’ the show, when the shootin’-booth 
man sicked his gang on you an’ me? An’ how 
Ol’ Double-Life came tearin’ an’ rampin’ forth, 
with reinforcements?” 

“I remember that the shootin’-booth man, at 
least, was well wounded by his own weapons,” 
said Patrick, with heavy satisfaction. “I did 
it myself.” 

“I saw the result. Where did you learn rapid- 
firin’ with a bow, Patrick? ” 

“A bow! Would I bother wid such a thrashy 

[98] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

ballistics? Pooh! He was gettin’ away over 
a wall ; so I chose a handful of arrows, and 
stabbed him where he vanished.” 

“Our get-away was the thing — with those 
wooden shoes sailin’ into us like shells! I can 
hear ’em now, crackin’ on Fatty Mullins’s head. 
Ah—” 

“ ’Twas a grand evenin’,” Patrick assented. 
“I lost you early, though Shorty. Or did you 
go wid us to the dancin’ up at Number Six? 
Gay doin’s, but Harah spoiled it, pretendin’ he 
was a circus horse, an’ jumpin’ through the paper 
walls into a room where a bunch o’ Japs were 
pullin’ off a weddin’ dinner. There’s somethin’ 
lackin’ in Harah.” 

“He ’s no refinement,” Shorty agreed. “No, 
I wasn’t there. In the stampede out o’ the Ise- 
zak’cho, I fell in with that George, or over him. 
He was wanderin’ feebly about in rings, an’ I 
took him in tow. 

“You should ’a’ laid eyes to him then, as 
I hoisted him through dark alleys, avoidin’ 
pursuers. He was the last rose o’ summer, gog- 
glin’ an’ droopin’ an’ wiltin’ an’ delib’rately 
usin’ me for a sofa. 

“ ‘George,’ says I, settin’ down with him on 
the porch of a house to rest, ‘this is bad business. 

[99] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

There were black eyes handed round in the 
Isezak’cho, an’ the Japs, you know, are not the 
Chinese. There’ll be complaints an’ heavy pun- 
ishment. I can see Ol’ Particular’s cheeks 
bulgin’ now; his private language ’ll be a shinin’ 
pattern for the ship at large. You an’ I need 
alibis.’ 

“All the answer I got out o’ George was a 
snore that rattled the porch. A small, sleepy 
Jap came out o’ the house in dishabille — ” 

“Dishabille? ” Patrick inquired. “You mean 
Motomachi? ” 

“Dishabille’s no street, you big cow, it’s a 
night-gown like. Though it was the Moto- 
machi; for the Professor roosted thereabouts 
midst the native population. He heard us 
jawin’ the sleepy Jap in English, no doubt, 
an’ so nailed us. 

“You see, while I was rousin’ George, at the 
Jap’s request, an’ preparin’ for further wander- 
in’s, a voice said in my ear: 

“ ‘Jack, can you spare me the price of a bed 
an’ a cup o’ coffee? I used to be a fine young 
man, an’ liked my fun ; but now look at me, J ack, 
down an’ out. There, that’s a good fella!’ 

“It took me straight back to Fourteenth Street. 
I turned round, and saw a poor ol’ guy from 
[IOO] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

home, with white whiskers all over his face like 
he was hidin’ in the Park. ‘There’s a fine, 
good, young fella, Jack,’ he cries, wipin’ his eyes 
with his hands. ‘I was your kind once; easy 
come an’ go, gay an’ free. An’ here I am now, 
all in, on the wrong side o’ the world, an’ never 
a chance o’ seeing the ol’ town again.’ 

“ ‘Why,’ I says, cryin’ myself, ‘how dare you 
try to strong-arm me, you old crook? ’ An’ I 
slipped him what I had left: four yens , I think, 
an’ about a pound o’ copper cash. We sat down 
together on the penny piazza. 

“He told me that he was from New York; 
so I gave him the news : how the old places were 
closin’ up under the Elevated, an’ how the sail- 
ormen had all gone to Fourteenth Street. ‘An’ 
so even Rooney’s place is clos’d,’ he’d say. ‘Ah, 
it’s an ol’ man I’m gettin’ to be, when Rooney’s 
is gone. It’s time I was movin’ myself.’ 

“When I made a break to get up, he 
grabbed me. 

“ ‘Ain’t there anythin’ I can do for you, to 
remember me by?’ he says. 

“ ‘Why,’ says I, ‘I don’t see what.’ 

“‘A little, full-rigged ship on your arm!’ 
says he. ‘A twist of anchors! A nice female 
figure! It’s the only gift I’ve got left, an’ I 
[ioi] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

used to be a great tattooer, back on the Bowery. 
Professor McManus — that’s me. But here 
there’s nothin’ doin’; the Japs have me beaten 
at my own game . . .’ 

“I sat as if froze there. I tried my voice 
two or three times before it sounded quite care- 
less an’ free. 

“ ‘Why,’ I said, then, ‘there’s nothin’ that you 
can do for me, for I’ve got mine on already. But 
here’s my friend. He’s crazy about tattooin’. 
It’s all I hear from him. He’ll see a Jap tat- 
tooer’s place, an’ I have to fight him to keep him 
out of it. “No, George,” I say, “you’ll be sorry. 
Be patient; don’t spoil yourself. What you want 
is a white man’s work on you. I’m savin’ you 
for an artist. An’ George, he’s waitin’ for you, 
somewhere, with his needles. No fear, the lucky 
day ’ll come for you.” An’, sure enough, Pro- 
fessor, here it is! ’ 

“ ‘For that, Jack,’ says the Prof, with feelin’, 
‘your friend shall have the best I’m able. I’ll 
get the needles off of a Jap at the end o’ the 
street. We’ll fix him there. When he comes 
around, how he will wring your hand!’ 

“Well, joy gave me stren’th; I packed George 
up the Motomachi like he was a pillow. The 
Prof, hobbled ahead, to wake the Jap, — an’ a 
[102] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 


sore Jap he was. But we got in, an’, for a won- 
der, with our shoes on. 

“It was a queer place inside, when we made 
a light, to judge from the black, shiny eyes peep- 
in’ through the screens. A lot o’ pretty little 
kids in red peeked down the stairs, an’ yelled, 
an’ an old woman smacked ’em an’ chased ’em 
back to bed. 

“ What is it? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘Geisha school,’ says the Prof. He looked 
turrible in the light. His eyes were pink. His 
white blocks were brushed every which way, an’ 
all smoked yallow round his mouth. 

“But he took out one o’ my yens an’ threw it 
down like a king. 

“ 'Sake/ says he. ‘Boilin’ hot. It’s a per- 
nicious habit,’ he says, winkin’ at me, ‘but just 
this once, hey? It’s all right when you can stop 
any time, as I could, if I wished.’ 

“They mixed the little bowls o’ colors, an’ 
laid out the needles. An’ George! What 
snores! It was like the lion’s house in the 
menagerie, to hear him. 

“ ‘See here,’ I says, lookin’ at the Jap, ‘no na- 
tive talent. The good ol’ Bowery style. No 
oriental art in this.’ 

“ ‘Oh,’ says the Prof., almost shocked. ‘I 

[103] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

wouldn’t permit him — not one punch. Now 
then, what sort o’ design?’ 

“I thought a while. 

“ ‘Well,’ I says, at len’th, ‘he’s quite a guy 
with the girls, you know. Somethin’ rather 
sporty?’ 

“ ‘A nice female figure?’ 

“ ‘Exquisite. But nothin’ prim, now.’ 

“ ‘Oh, by no means! Where’ll he have it?’ 

“ ‘Well, suppose we say laid over his chest? 
He’s got a fine chest, has George, — it’ll make a 
swell background. An’ spread it, mind. Noth- 
in’ dinky. Ample’s the word.’ 

“‘Jack,’ says the ol’ cuss, with water in his 
eyes, ‘you hurt my pride. Leave it all to me.’ 
Sayin’ which, he has some sake, takes up the 
needles, an’ clears away George’s overshirt. 
Then, stickin’ the tip of his tongue out o’ one 
end of his mouth, he begins. 

“Well, I couldn’t stay. J just had to go off 
somewheres an’ yell. So I thought I heard a 
friend outside, callin’ my name. 

“ ‘Don’t stop the job,’ I says. ‘I’ll be right 
back. Continue, Prof., continue without stint.’ 

“I tiptoed out an’ left them. Will I ever for- 
get it? The Jap sat outside the candlelight, 
sneerin’ at the Prof, behind his hand; an’ all 
[104] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

the screen-cracks had eyes shinin’ through them. 
It was a bit creepy at that . . . 

“But outside I forgot it, thinkin’ o’ George, 
the double-faced, slanderin’, naggin’, note-wag- 
glin’, never-disfigured fiance! Yow! I beat it 
through the town, over the bridge, across the 
Concession, down the Bund, onto the landin’, 
an’ headfirst into the last lanch, just in time. 

“ ‘You’re full, Shorty,’ says Coxswain Carrol, 
very severe, when I fell over him an’ the wheel. 

“ ‘I am,’ says I, ‘an’ glad of it.’ An’ I sang 
The Voyage o’ Columbus all the way out to 
the ship . . 

Shorty stopped abruptly, to crane his neck 
from our alcove. 

“Hi, what’s that, in the hall out there! 
Ladies in short skirts? A guy with horns, in a 
mask?” 

“A ball upstairs,” said Patrick, without in- 
terest. “They’ve been heatin’ the floor this half 
hour. A mask ball. What of it? You’re tellin’ 
a story.” 

“George, you know, was due aboard?” I 
hinted. 

“Ah, yes. But not till next mornin’. He was 
rowed out then, about First Call, in a sampan, 
very pale an’ debilitated. He was some nine 

[105] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

hours over his liberty, an’ Ol’ Particular was 
tearin’ mad at anythin’. He’d heard officially 
about the Isezak’cho, an’ every sailorman ashore 
that day he was sure was in it. Consequently, 
that mornin’, he lit on our George an’ heaved 
all the extra duties on the ship at him, com- 
pletin’ the horror. But I’m ahead o’ myself. 

“George came aboard, you see, draggin’ him- 
self down the gun-deck. It was crammed with 
men; we were just in from scrubbin’ canvas; the 
mess gear was down, an’, through the hatch, the 
marine country was full of undershirts an’ half- 
cleaned rifles. The mixture appeared to annoy 
our George. 

“ ‘Hello,’ says I, slappin’ him on the back. 
‘Where were you last night?’ 

“ ‘How should I know?’ says he. ‘I wish you 
wouldn’t slap me that way, Shorty, it makes 
my head ache.’ 

“ ‘I was lookin’ for you everywhere,’ I says. 

“ ‘Were you, though?’ says he. ‘Phew! Ain’t 
that smell o’ breakfast disgustin’?’ 

“George’s overshirt was loose at the neck. 
I says: 

“‘Why, George! You ain’t had yourself 
tattooed!’ 

“He made a dab at his throat. 

[i°6] 





“All over his chest was the saddest-lookin’ sketch I ever saw.” 





PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

“ ‘Me?’ he rattled. Where? Where?’ 

“An’, when he’d torn his shirt half off his 
back, there, all over his chest, was the saddest- 
lookin’ sketch I ever saw. 

“It was a nice, female figure, out o’ the ol’ 
Black Crooks I should think. Vintage o’ ’70, 
when the Prof, was in his prime. She was up 
on one foot an’ as if kickin’ George in the chin 
with the other. No, she wasn’t prim, by any 
means, — but the work itself! Oh, oh, what 
drawin’ ! 

“We sat George in a barber chair near by. 
When he saw himself in the glass, he actu’lly 
burst into tears. 

“‘I’m ruined,’ he moaned. Whatever' got 
into me! I’ll never be the same again!’ The 
crowd was ten deep, an’ more cornin’ all the 
time. 

“ ‘Don’t take on so, George,’ I says soothin’ly. 
Why, it’s a decoration.’ 

“‘Oh!’ says he, ‘a decoration! Heaven for- 
give you, Shorty, for sayin’ that!’ 

“I pushed out, hurt at havin’ my taste ques- 
tioned. Safe on the other side o’ the gun-deck, 
I did a few light steps — quite Black Crookish — 
an’ stuck a friend’s head into the dish-washin’ 
machine. 

[107] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“Well, sir, from that day, George began to 
change. I noticed it in little things. First, I 
didn’t have any more pale-blue letters waggled 
in my face. An’ George in the shower-baths 
was always tryin’ to hide the Black Crook lady: 
he quite dropped off his old game, as a pose 
plastique. He kept a little mirror in his ditty- 
box, an’ he used to sneak off an’ look at his em- 
bellishments in it . . . I learned several useful 
new words by listenin’ attentively to George, at 
such times. 

“ ‘It’s tumble,’ he said, one day, ‘to think o’ 
goin’ through life shovin’ a sketch like 
that in front o’ you! If it was even somethin’ 
else!’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘then why not have it covered 
up with somethin’ else? Somethin’ to fit over it, 
somethin’ artistic, really Japanese — a souvenir, 
eh? Go to a good Jap tattooer, an’ tell him you 
want an ichi-ban picture laid over that. You 
won’t regret it.’ 

“ ‘No?’ says he, startin’ up. ‘You think I 
wouldn’t? Could I truly get the miserable 
thing covered up that way? Shorty, I believe I 
could! You’re all right, you are!’ He was 
quite tickled. 

“We were out o’ Yokohama, an’ coastin’ for 
[108] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

Kobe then. He could hardly wait to arrive 
there. 

“At Kobe, he was in a perfect fever to get his 
liberty. When he went ashore, it was the grief 
o’ my life that I couldn’t go with him. I never 
put in a longer afternoon. 

“He returned, towards evenin’, lookin’ like a 
guy fresh from swallowin’ a hearty drink an’ 
suspectin’ too late that it’s wood alcohol. 

“ ‘Shorty,’ says he, somewhat pale in the twi- 
light along the gun-deck, ‘I’m goin’ to ask you 
to look at this.’ He peeled. Patrick was on 
hand, for one. 

“Say, as George stood there, I couldn’t see 
him at all. The only thing that I saw was a red, 
blue an’ green geisha, about a foot an’ a half 
high, trailin’ all over George. You can im- 
agine, when I tell you her fancy hair-pins were 
ticklin’ his neck, while her skirts finished off 
under his belt. Seein’ it all at once, it dazed me. 

“ ‘Well, well,’ he snaps out. ‘How about it?’ 

“ ‘Why, George,’ I says, as though unwill- 
in’ly, ‘it’s too big.’ 

“‘Holy Mackerel!’ he howls, goin’ up in 
the air. ‘That’s what I told him! Too big? 
It’s life-size!’ 

“ ‘Oh, not quite,’ I says, gently, reprovin’ 

[109] 8 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

Harah an’ Patrick here, with a glance, for 
laughin’. ‘Not quite life-size. But it rather 
shocked me, you see, cornin’ on it suddenly; 
it’s so awful prominent. If you were off the 
len’th o’ the ship, that’s all I could see o’ you — 
that lady. An’ I don’t even think she’s a geisha, 
George, — look at that sash tied in front. It’s 
good you’re no married man; it ud hardly do 
for one, would it?’ 

“ ‘No?’ says he in a little, weak voice, sittin’ 
down on a box. ‘You don’t think so?’ 

“ ‘I should hesitate,’ I says. ‘If I was goin’ to 
get married, it’s hardly that style o’ picture I’d 
have punched into me. I’d select somethin’ 
more — professional, somethin’ more heroic.’ 

“ ‘What would you have, Shorty?’ he quavers, 
holdin’ his head. ‘Tell me true, Shorty, for at 
least you’ve sympathy, which some haven’t’ — 
with a look at Patrick an’ Harah. 

“ ‘Well,’ I says, quite cheerful an’ opti- 
mistical, ‘why not a naval battle?’ 

“‘A naval battle!’ says he. ‘You’re out o’ 
your head!’ 

“ ‘A naval battle’s thrillin’ an’ appropriate,’ I 
says. ‘Moreover, the details can be as mixed 
as you like, an’ none the wiser. You could 
almost, I think,’ says I, eyin’ him over like 
[iio] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

a doctor prescribin’, ‘have a naval battle yet, 
over that.’ 

“He gets up, gives me one look, an’, draggin’ 
his heels, takes his Jap lady away with him. 

“Next mornin’, George’s tattooin’ was the talk 
o’ the ship. It was just gettin’ painful, an’ 
George, in consequence, very fretful, an’ every 
one plaguin’ him for a look. For ten cents 
American money I think George would ’a’ 
chucked himself overboard. 

“Says Patrick to me, next day: 

“ ‘I believe he’s gettin’ a trifle nutty, Shorty. 
He acts very queer at times, goin’ round mut- 
terin’. He has a wild eye. You’d best cut 
it out.’ 

“ ‘Cut what out!’ says I. ‘What am I doin’ 
now? I was done with Professor McManus. 
Did I make him go to that Kobe Jap? No; 
a donkey engine couldn’t ’a’ held him back. 
An’ that’s not all. When these picturesque guys 
get tinkerin’ with themselves, they never let up. 
He’ll go on of his own accord, now he’s got the 
habit. Wait till we’re at Nagasaki; you’ll see.’ 
We were out o’ Kobe then, runnin’ south. 

“George got in the way o’ huntin’ me out to 
discuss the tattoo lady. ‘It’s havin’ an effect on 
the ship, too,’ he says. ‘Billy Spratt — you know 
[mi 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

how religious he is — he asked me the other day 
if there wasn’t some way o’ tonin’ it down an’ 
makin’ it less lifelike? He says he thinks it al- 
most isn’t just nice; it’s nearly as if there were 
ladies concealed aboard — Heaven help us!’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I says, kindly, ‘there’s always the 
. naval battle, George.’ 

“Presently we came to Nagasaki, where 
George got his liberty. After seein’ him off for 
the beach, I said to Patrick: 

“ ‘Ol’ George the Work-of-Art has gone 
ashore to do it again.’ 

“ ‘Shorty, enough is plenty. I can’t believe 
you ain’t a liar,’ says Patrick, with his customary 
delicacy. 

“ ‘All right,’ I says. ‘If he hasn’t made a 
fresh show of himself by to-night, I’ll take you 
up to that Risin’ Sun tea-house, on the hill, an’ 
ruin your linin’s. Why, George couldn’t stop 
now, any more than you could stop usin’ to- 
bacco. It’s a tumble habit, creepy to contem- 
plate, ain’t it? Vanity does it. Get down an’ 
give thanks, Patrick, that you look like a horse.’ 

“That night I didn’t wait for George to hunt 
me. I found him on the gun-deck, sunk down 
on the sill o’ the office. He was quite peaked out. 
On seein’ me, he says, in a faint tone o’ voice: 

[112] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

“ ‘I’ve had a heart-breakin’ day, Shorty.’ 

“ ‘What doin’?’ I asked him, in a jolly way. 

“ ‘Can’t you guess?’ he said, as if he wanted 
to cry. 

“‘Not been to more tattooers!’ I shouted, 
steppin’ back. 

“ ‘Yes, Shorty, I have,’ he said. ‘I didn’t 
want to, but somehow I couldn’t keep away. It 
was dreadful, tryin’ not to do it; but it wasn’t 
any use. I couldn’t stand that incriminatin’ Jap 
figure a minute longer. I’ve had myself done 
over. At least, I’m not suggestive any more.’ 

“ ‘Let’s see,’ I says, an’, with my hand behind 
my back, motions to Patrick. He came over 
with Harah, an’ Quinn, an’ Licks — ” 

“Not forgettin’ Willie Spratt, the moral 
censor,” interrupted Patrick. 

“An’ Spratt, yes, to give it tone. George 
balked at the crowd, at first. But finally, he 
pulled his overshirt up over his head. It wasn’t 
very light there. 

“ ‘Well,’ I says, ‘you dude, since when have 
you been wearin’ that blue underwear?’ 

“ ‘That ain’t underwear,’ he answered, with 
his voice tremblin’, ‘that’s tattooin’.’ 

“‘Oh!’ groans the bunch, like one man, 
baggin’ at the knees. 

[”3] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“George was tattooed solid, as if he had on 
a sleeveless shirt, with enough dragons an’ 
snakes an’ reptiles, tied into half-hitches an’ 
makin’ faces from bow-knots, to fit out a dozen 
delirium tremens. An’ this effect was shaded off 
on the arms, most artistic’lly, with little snakes, 
taperin’ down to caterpillar-size, an’, finally, 
just a bug here an’ there, to carry off the decora- 
tion. I never saw anythin’ like it, anywheres, 
not even on an ol’-fashioned Jap fireman’s 
back. 

“ ‘It took all five o’ those tattooers all day to 
do it,’ quavers George, from the office sill, where 
he’d sat down again in a heap. ‘I got scared 
when they began to exceed my orders, an’ tried 
to stop ’em. But they’d got that interested an’ 
worked up over it, that they wouldn’t take no for 
an answer. They kept swearin’ there’d be 
nothin’ else like it — ” 

“ ‘There isn’t,’ I says. 

“ ‘It gives me the creeps,’ says Harah. ‘You 
look like a temperance lecturer’s picture of a 
drop o’ beer, magnified a thousand times. Ex- 
cuse me if I go, George? I like a swallow now 
an’ then; I don’t want my appetite scared away.’ 

“He went, an’ the rest with him, unable to find 
words. I went too, for I was hurt to think how 

[114] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

he’d chose snakes, when I’d been all for naval 
battles. So we left George alone, on the office 
sill, amongst his reptiles.” 

Shorty stopped. 

“An’ he never knew,” added Patrick. 

“Till long after,” corrected Shorty. “But 
’twasn’t George that found it out then, I don’t 
think. I’ve a suspicion some one else put him 
next to himself.” 

“Ah, yes; what about that girl?” 

“How can you tell what they’re goin’ to do?” 
said Shorty, enigmatically. “He was makin’ 
enough to keep a family, when I saw him. In 
Barnum’s. On a platform. Photos, twenty-five 
cents, in a line along the front. You’re on?” 

“So, after all,” concluded Patrick, “ ’twas 
Shorty set him up in his profession.” 

“An’ how ungrateful; how, how — Pst! 
There, lookin’ in at the door, in blue, with the 
little mask on!” 

“From the ball upstairs, you coquette,” 
drawled Patrick, lying back and feeling for a 
fresh cigar. Tome: 

“The pritty ones don’t wear masks, do they?” 

“No? Suppose,” cried Shorty, beaming, as if 
with sudden inspiration, “suppose we patronize 
an’ see?” 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

Rashly, forgetting the early evening, I agreed. 
Directed by the waiter, we found, round the 
corner, a small, nocturnal shop-of-all-goods, 
where we procured three amazing noses. Be- 
hind these we went demurely to the ball. And 
there, Shorty, without previous introduction, 
won a Queen of Diamonds out of a hedge of 
frowning youths, all collars and cowlicks. And 
Patrick, from a whirling, spangled waltz, 
emerged escorting a bewildered Cleopatra, or 
some such siren, a queue of disgruntled rivals 
muttering at his heels. But these things must be 
irrelevant, touching on extraneous love and war 
(for war followed, in which two, blue clad, 
raged in the cloak room against heavy odds, like 
Ulysses and Telemachus among the Suitors). 
Afterwards, however, I noticed something that 
was relevant. 

For into the street — while Shorty, the fre- 
quently-ejected, was taking stock of casualties 
there — the Queen of Diamonds emerged with 
her escort from the ball. Defying convention, 
she paused to say good-night to Shorty. And 
because she admired valor exhibited on her ac- 
count, in the face of a chagrined cavalier, she 
tidied Shorty’s neckerchief, brushed off his over- 
shirt, and rolled down his sleeves. But, while 

[n6] 


PICTURE-GALLERY GEORGE 

rolling down his sleeves, she stopped to look in- 
tently at his arms. 

“Well,” she exclaimed, dropping his hands as 
if they were red-hot. “If I’d ’a’ known you 
were a flirt, an’ a jollier, an’ all marked up with 
other girls’ names, you wouldn’t ’a’ kissed me 
to-night behind any scenery. Here; take it 
back!” 

Dexterously hurling it back at him, she 
dragged away her escort. 

Shorty turned up to the lamplight a dazed 
countenance. 

“Say, all over the world there’s no two of ’em 
alike!” 


[” 7] 


V 


THE BIG ONE 

S HORTY and Patrick and I were marching, 
with the precision of a Macedonian pha- 
lanx, upon the Heart of Coney Island. Small 
boys, darting across our way, avoided us as 
pedestrians, for fear of being run over, shun the 
inflexible forefront of a marching regiment. 
Best girls, in transit from one aerial railway to 
another, brought their escorts to a halt and — 
gum-chewing suspended for the moment — 
feasted their eyes on my gallant companions. 
Patrick’s impressive bulk drew out one juve- 
nile “hooray!” and Shorty’s impudence at least 
one secretly delivered smile. So, amid admira- 
tion both patriotic and amorous, we progressed 
grandly, bearing ourselves with the urbanity of 
persons perfectly self-satisfied. 

Our eyes were dazzled by fiery architecture 
[118] 


THE BIG ONE 


rising against the hot, black sky, — a garble of 
spangled domes and towers such as the Arabian 
Jinn must have evolved, between two days, for 
their astonished masters. From that glowing 
region of promise came, to greet us, on the 
tepid breeze, music from military to aboriginal, 
falsetto shrieks of terror experienced aloft and 
at full speed, the rattle of vast, airy machinery, 
detonations of powder-play, the clack of urgent 
voices promising every marvel. 

Distinct amid this uproar was beaten out the 
cadence of a brass band: 

“Boom! (rest) Boom! (rest) Boom! (a double 
rest) Boom! Boom! ” 

At that incentive, Shorty, half crouching, ad- 
vanced nimbly, with a shuffle of heels. His lips 
puckered, his face wearing a look of great sever- 
ity, he whistled windily a jaunty fragment some- 
how familiar. Tall Patrick, for a wonder, 
caught the tune and joined in it, with an exces- 
sive exercise of flats and sharps. Remembering 
more accurately with every step, from whistling 
they came to singing snatches, such as: 

“Boom; Ha, ha! Boom; Ha, ha!” 

Then, suddenly, we all recalled it. And, in 
our exultation throwing shame to the winds, we 
arrived before the Heart of Coney Island, 

[” 9 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

locked abreast and singing for all who chose 
to hear: 

“Tra, la, la, la, la, 

La-la-la! La! La! 

Voila les Anglais, 

Bourn! Ha! 

Bourn! Ha, ha, ha!” 

We were settled, finally, at table, aloft upon a 
glittering balcony. Below us, in a circus ring 
hanging over a lagoon and spattered by gro- 
tesque fountains, gay equestrians succeeded per- 
forming polar bears and were succeeded by 
vivid acrobats. 

“Shorty, that little French song, — I’ve been 
wondering where you could have got it. It 
sounds like Paris.” 

“That? ” from Shorty, between licks along a 
half-rolled cigarette. “That was Nice, I think, 
last Mediterranean cruise. Aha! I remember 
now! It was in a theayter on — what’s that 
Rue, in Nice, all dressed with little chairs 
an’ tables?” 

“Rue Massena? ” 

“Imagine his knowin’, now! Yep, in a the- 
ayter on Rue Massena. A very trashy, unsub- 
stantial little theayter. D’you remember, Pat- 
[ 1 20] 


THE BIG ONE 

rick, how that box-office just li’rally came apart 
in the Big One’s hands? ” 

“It’s a story, then? ” 

“What!” cried Shorty, shrilly. “We’ve not 
told you that — about the Big One?” 

Forthwith we all slid further into comfort, 
struck matches, and rapped on the table. And 
finally, Shorty, his sly young face glimmering 
at recollection, said: 

“There were four to our little party: the 
Admiral’s flagship, two small protected cruis- 
ers, an’ us. We came from Naples to Ville- 
franche, just movin’, so that the Admiral could 
get his stummick properly over the Italian hos- 
pitality an’ fit to go up against the French. Poor 
ol’ man, the anchors weren’t hardly over before 
some one in Nice up an’ slung a banquet at him. 
He wobbled, but he came back game at that: 
the same night he fell for it like a hero, takin’ 
all the captains with him, out o’ spite. As his 
barge passed our ship, goin’ in, the gun-deck 
quartet was singin’ very soft: 

“ ‘Good-bye, my liver; 

Good-bye, my liver; 

Good-bye, my liv-e-er! (hold it) 

I’m goin’ to ruin you now! ’ 

[I2l] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“Or so I’m told; for just then Patrick an’ I 
were otherwise engaged. We were in Nice, a 
short trolley ride, as you know, from Ville- 
franche, with some two hundred liberty men 
from all ships, under strict orders to smile con- 
tinu’lly an’ be back, mind you, on the stroke o’ 
one bell — half-past eight — that evenin’ — ” 

“An’, about one bell that evenin’ — ” 

“You’ve skipped a lot there,” I interrupted, 
reprovingly. 

“Of course I have. What interest are the pre- 
liminaries alongside the finished product? I’m 
passin’ over the usual, uninterestin’ part, to show 
you Patrick an’ me as we were at one bell — a 
couple o’ highly-finished products.” 

“Speak for yourself then,” Patrick said, se- 
verely. “I was no more than feelin’ com- 
fortable.” 

“Comfortable! How so, with no skin on your 
nose? ” 

“I was peelin’ from sunburn, you shrimp, an’ 
it’s well you know it.” * 

“You were sunburnt, I know, an’ well peeled, 
I know. But not peeled from sunburn, Patrick, 
for little Shorty saw that done. You’ll deny, I 
suppose, when you heard that sweet singin’ down 
that little street, puttin’ your murderin’ two hun- 
[122] 


THE BIG ONE 

dred pounds up on my shoulders, an’ stickin’ 
your impudent red head into that window, an’ 
gettin’ that plate broke across your face — ” 

“Shorty, you’ve had enough to-night, I’m 
thinkin’,” said Patrick, nodding with simple 
dignity. 

“Oh, well, I won’t pursue. To resume: 

“About one bell, then, just when we should 
’a’ been bendin’ our minds dutifully on the trol- 
ley car an’ the lanch, observe us skatin’ down 
that Rue of open-face cafes, arm in arm with a 
perfect stranger who was beggin’ us in English 
to call him Percy. 

“ ‘You must call me Percy,’ I remember him 
sayin’, ‘or I shall be cross with you. An’ you 
must talk to me continually; it’s like a whiff o’ 
little ol’ New York to hear you. Dear little ol’ 
New York! ’ he howls out, in a tremblin’ voice, 
stoppin’ an’ gettin’ quite a crowd about us. 
‘Dear little ol’ burg, that I ran away from in 
my folly! How you boys bring it back to me! 
Oh, speak again,’ says he, claspin’ his two hands, 
like an actor on the stage. ‘I could cry just 
listenin’.’ An’ to prove it, he did. 

“I can’t exactly figure out where we’d col- 
lected that one . . . but he was a bird, for fair. 
All poisoned up in a white flannel suit an’ a 

l>3] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

straw hat with a ribbon to it that looked like a 
string o’ new signal flags. That searchlight on 
his finger, Patrick! A big cake of ice was 
broke, all right, when that ring was hoisted 
together. I saw that he was the genuine 
goods; but Patrick, gettin’ the flash o’ that 
ring in his eye, had his doubts if it was come 
by honestly. 

“ What did you run away from in New 
York? ’ he asked the dressy guy, insinuating. 

“ ‘From work, Horace, if you’ll pardon me 
callin’ you so,’ says the guy, leanin’ up against 
Patrick very confidentially. ‘From a cruel 
parent,’ he says, ‘who threatened me with work. 
Excuse me, madam,’ he says, knockin’ a tableful 
o’ drinks on the sidewalk an’ bowin’ to a waiter 
in a white apron. ‘My mistake,’ he says, skin- 
nin’ some o’ that white French money off a roll 
as big as your arm. ‘Go buy yourself a trous- 
seau an’ a bridal suite.’ 

“The ship at half-past eight? What a chance! 

“Presently the three of us wandered up in 
front of a little theayter all stuck over with 
lights. ‘Oh, goody!’ says this Percy, clappin’ 
eyes on it. ‘How passionately I love the drama! 
We must take this in,’ he says, ‘without delay.’ 
The next I knew, we were all up against the 
[124] 


THE BIG ONE 

stage in a private box, an’ a waiter was strainin’ 
his back over three bottles of — ” 

Shorty’s voice was properly impressive as he 
uttered that word to conjure with in certain 
social strata: 

“ — wine! 

“That theayter! Innumerable French, dip- 
pin’ into beers an’ little glasses full o’ cherries. 
Smoke everywhere to make it homelike. Down 
in the orchestra I saw Jack Stubbs an’ a friend 
from the Flagship gapin’ up at us, as if we were 
so many dooks. I think Percy thought he was, 
at that. 

“For instance, after that ‘Boom, ha, ha I’ 
song . . . 

“She was a swell singer, the girl that sang it; 
she was got up in the best part of a dress, an’ 
every time she shrugged her shoulders Patrick 
jumped an’ cried: ‘Look out!’ When the song 
was done, while all the French were yellin’ 
‘Beese! Beese! ’ an’ nearly tearin’ the seats apart, 
this Percy, pouncin’ on a waiter, says : 

“ ‘Horace, if you’ll pardon me callin’ you so,’ 
he says, skinnin’ the roll again with quiverin’ 
fingers, ‘hop out with this an’ buy the lady a 
thousand red, red roses, an’ see that they’re per- 
fectly fresh, an’ that’s what I think o’ herj he 

[125] 9 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

says. It was plain that he didn’t much care 
what happened to father’s money, that young 
man. 

“ ’Twas after her, I think, they hung out a 
new sign, an’ on the sign we read : 

“ ‘M’soo Pol Patout.’ ” 

At that point, Patrick, abruptly altering his 
pose, made ready, I suspected, to kick Shorty 
under the table. But he changed his mind; for, 
smiling a little ruefully, he lay back with closed 
eyes, eloquently though mutely expressing resig- 
nation. 

Searching my memory, I repeated: 

“Patout — Patout — Not the savate fellow — the 
fighter? ” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve seen him! ” 

“He was beaten for the championship of 
France last year in Paris — ” 

“A lumpy, hard-lookin’ duck in a skin-tight 
bathin’ suit, like? But the face on him! When 
he marched out to music Patrick had to hide, 
from laughin’.” 

“His real face, at that,” from Patrick, open- 
ing one eye. “His head clipped naked all over 
. . . but I think it was the whishkers did it. Faith, 
the way he was mutilated, he looked as if he’d 
fallen asleep in the barber chair, an’ when he 
[126] 


THE BIG ONE 

woke up they’d got scared an’ hid the glass on 
him.” 

“Oh,” Shorty remonstrated. “But the other 
one! 

“After him, out steps a little, small valentine 
in a dress-suit, an’ a bran’ new, more tumble 
class o’ whiskers yet. The poor homely fella — 
no one had the heart to laugh at him. I was 
sick with shame for him. I could ’a’ killed his 
barber for him with relish. 

“This poor little sketch lined up with M’soo 
Patout an’, puttin’ one hand up on his shoulder, 
got off a speech to the crowd, in French. Percy 
translatin’, it ran like this: 

“ ‘There was a match on between M’soo Pa- 
tout an’ another party, but it’s off. The other 
party has changed his mind. The match goes to 
M’soo Patout, without a gesture, together with 
the purse, which is five hundred francs. But, 
as an earnest o’ good faith, so, that no one’s 
pleasure will be spoiled, M’soo Patout stands 
willin’ to put up the five hundred francs here an’ 
now, if any one can find, anywheres, a gent to 
fill the vacant corner. All welcome, none 
barred. Who wins takes the money.’ Nothin’ 
if not handsome, hey? 

“At that point, Patrick, here, uncoils himself 

t 1 27] 


/ 

SHORTY AND PATRICK 

very delib’rately, an’ sits up. Takin’ tight hold 
o’ Percy, he says: ‘It can’t be possible.’ He 
looks over at M’soo Patout, an’ begins breathin’ 
hard. ‘Percy,’ he says, ‘how much is five hun- 
dred francs, real money? Is it not a hundred 
dollars? Is it not equal, in bald language, to 
the staggerin’ sum o’ two thousand beers? You 
should not ’a’ brought me into this place,’ says 
Patrick, peelin’ his overshirt, an’ throwin’ it on 
the floor. ‘This is no place,’ he says, gettin’ a 
leg over the edge o’ the box, ‘for an Irishman, 
with pay drawn and spent.’ By that time, he 
was standin’ up on the stage, feelin’ his knuckles 
an’ smilin’ invitin’ly at M’soo Patout.” 

“Patrick? ” 

“Fairly straight, for him,” replied that sandy 
giant, grudgingly. “What else would I do, at 
that time o’ night, havin’ it waved in my face 
that way? No one stopped me.” 

“The best heavy-weight on the ship? Not 
likely,” cried Shorty. “I didn’t use up any 
efforts stoppin’ him. Lookin’ at Patout, I didn’t 
have but one fear. To Percy, who was sittin’ 
back just dazed with delight, I says : 

“ ‘Percy,’ I says, earnestly, ‘if you know the 
words, tell your bare French friend to make 
over the money an’ beat it while his shoes are 
[128] 


THE BIG ONE 

good. I’m afraid we’ll all be pinched for man- 
slaughter.’ 

“‘Me stop it?’ cries Percy, with tears o’ joy 
sparklin’ in his eyes. ‘Not for all papa’s 
got!’ ” 

After a pause, Shorty continued, thoughtfully: 

“Will you pardon me if I seem to skip some, 
here? For instance, where Percy, up on the 
edge o’ the box, arrangin’ our end, says to 
Patrick: ‘Horace, is it agreeable to you that you 
both use the ring rules of your respective coun- 
tries?’ An’ where Patrick, wrestlin’ with the 
gloves, answers: ‘Rules? Ha, ha!’ so bold an’ 
gay. An’ where that miserable little dress-suit 
guy says: ' Ally / an’ steps back . . 

“Go on,” said Patrick, grimly. “Why stop 
now?” 

“Well,” continued Shorty, “what happened 
I didn’t rightly see, an’ I’m pretty quick, at that. 
I did see Patrick hoist back his right, for a 
swing. But it seemed to me, somehow, that just 
then M’soo Patout was standin’ on his hands. 
An’, immediately followin’ that, a turrible crash 
o’ breakin’ fiddles ... It was Patrick, slingin’ 
himself, upside down, over the footlights an’ in 
amongst the band. 

“Back in the box, his first words were: 

[129] 


/ 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

14 ‘Where are we now? Are we out safe?’ 

“An’ then, gettin’ his bearin’s, he cries, in a 
heart-breakin’ voice: 

“‘The murderer! He kicked me with his 
feet!’ An’ would you believe it, that’s just 
what M’soo Patout had done. His idea o’ 
fightin’!” 

“Of course; the savate” 

“My little name for him was worse, an’ longer 
by a couple o’ joints. Mad? I was half on 
the stage, with a bottle, before that Percy 
grabbed me back. 

“ ‘Leave go o’ me,’ I says. ‘What rules are 
these?’ I says. ‘My friend never signed to go 
up against a mule,’ I says. ‘Leave me at that 
Spikidie with this; it seems a very free sort o’ 
place here; I guess bottles ain’t barred,’ I says, 
‘any more than feet.’ 

“But Percy: well, if I was cross, so was he, 
but in another way. He jumped up on the edge 
o’ the box an’ faced that mob, all lyin’ back, 
roarin’ at us with laughter. 

“Just his bright-red, blazin’ face stopped ’em. 
Balancin’ on the edge o’ the box, he took that 
fat roll out of his pocket an’ skinned it down till 
he’d counted it. Then, shakin’ it at them, he 
roared out, in the French language: 

[130] 


THE BIG ONE 

“ ‘In the words of our first commander, 
John Paul Jones, ‘we have not yet begun to 
fight! Five thousand francs to any one, if I do 
not find, before midnight to-night, an Ameri- 
can sailorman to make M’soo Patout look like 
what the cat dragged in!’ 

“For a minute they sat still. Then the air was 
full o’ handkerchiefs. 

“ ‘Percy,’ I says, slingin’ my arm round his 
neck, ‘rash you may be, but if you lose, I can 
see it go willin’ly after this moment!’ Says he, 
slappin’ his vest an’ takin’ my hand: 

“ ‘Horace,’ he says, ‘if you’ll pardon me 
callin’ you so, we will not lose it. The Navy,’ 
says he, ‘stands betwixt it an’ them.’ We didn’t 
need anythin’ more, we two, but a little red 
fire, an’ a brass-band playin’ ‘Oh, Say!’ an’ a 
picture of Admiral Dewey thrown on the 
curtains behind us. 

“Jack Stubbs an’ his Flagship friend, not 
quite understanding came bouncin’ through the 
French and did a wall-scalin’ drill into the box, 
to be at hand if it came to the worst. Between 
the bunch of us, we worked Patrick out to the 
lobby. An’ on the street, we ran slam into the 
arms o’ some twenty boys from all ships, hesi- 
tatin’ about the door, peekin’ in, an’ wonderin’ 

[131] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

if there wasn’t need for ’em inside. There’s 
instinct for you! 

“When they’d heard, perhaps they weren’t 
for quick action! 

“ ‘There’s two dozen here,’ bawls out a red- 
eyed carpenter’s mate off the Flagship. ‘There’s 
enough here,’ he says, wavin’ his arms in the air, 
‘to lay this place in sickenin’ ruins!’ The half of 
’em were for that in a minute. It’s lucky there 
was a middle-aged bos’n there, stone-cold, to 
hold ’em back. An’ Percy. It was Percy that 
finally straightened it out. 

“ ‘Friends all,’ says he, gettin ’em round him. 
‘Look at this right. That M’soo Patout in there 
must perish, but he must perish legitimately,’ 
he says. ‘We have three good hours yet till 
twelve,’ he says, draggin’ out a gold watch that 
looked like a ginger-snap, both sides stickin’ to- 
gether, an’ where the guts of it were, search me. 
‘Three hours? What!’ says he, warming up to 
his subject, ‘in three hours can we not find an 
executioner for him, kill him, bury him, have 
his tombstone carved an’ up, an’ grass an’ flowers 
flourishin’ on his grave?’ 

“‘We can,’ they howls, ‘an’ will!’ An’ we 
went surgin’ up the middle o’ the Rue Massena, 
wavin’ an’ arguin’ an’ near cornin’ to blows over 

[132] 


THE BIG ONE 

who it should be. Along the sidewalks, on each 
side, trampled a mob like the fringe of a parade. 
We jammed the traffic where we marched. 
Horses took to the side-streets at the mere 
sight of us. 

“From followin’ up this clue an’ that, finally, 
in a little cafe — what’s that open place all full 
o’ trolley cars? Oh, yeh; Place Massena — we 
routed out a fella named Olsen. He was a big, 
fierce barrel of a sailorman off the Flag- 
ship, who looked as if he could digest a 
M’soo Patout every mornin’ for his breakfast. 
We told him all. Says he, with a pityin’ 
look: 

“ Ts he waitin’ there now?’ 

“We told him yes. 

“ ‘Leave me at him,’ he says, an’ starts off 
walkin’ back so fast the most of us had to trot 
to keep up with him. 

“On the way, we ran into Jack Stubbs an’ his 
friend, whom we’d lost. He was towin’ some- 
thin’ he’d found: a tremendous, black coon off 
the protected cruiser Leadville. That Shine, he 
had a back like a W. T. compartment door, an’ 
hands like two bunches o’ red bananas. They 
hung down an’ flapped against his knees. Just 
lookin’ at him made me overjoyed that there 

[ I 33] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

wasn’t even a bowin’ acquaintance, between him 
an’ me, to get strained. 

“When Stubbs saw us, he sat up a yell an’ 
shoved this vision into us. 

“ ‘Well, fellas,’ he says, almost hysterical, 
‘here’s Mister Black wants to join.’ 

“ ‘In line with you, Mister Black,’ says Percy, 
slappin’ him on the back, an’ then lookin’ at his 
hand, quite astonished, as if he’d smacked it up 
against a fence. ‘Mister Olsen first, Mister 
Black second, who next?’ 

“ ‘I beg pardon,’ says Patrick, here, ‘but I 
must seem to crowd myself into first place, 
owing that Frenchman something unusual. Not 
to be impolite,’ he says, ‘but the one disputes 
my right, I can w’ale the livin’ soul out of him 
here an’ now,’ he says. 

“Would you believe it, almost before that 
theayter we found still another? His name was 
Ignatius McConnelly O’Hara — also a Flagship 
product — an’ he came drivin’ by to song, lyin’ 
back in an open hack, with his feet up along- 
side the driver. When he got out, take my 
oath, I think he could almost ’a’ stepped over 
the horse. We told him about it. He peers at 
the theayter, hands his money an’ pipe to a 
friend without a word, an’ in we go.” 

[134] 


THE BIG ONE 

Shorty, pausing again, made some wet rings 
on the table with his glass. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll again draw 
somethin’ of a veil . . . 

“It took, in all, thirty-five minutes, countin’ 
preliminaries an’ intermissions, which took 
thirty. It was just pitiful, an’ that’s the 
fact. Patrick an’ the big Swede were able to 
walk away, with assistance. The Dark Cloud 
was carried. Ignatius McConnelly O’Hara — 
they tell me the Flagship’s bull surgeon made 
quite a fella out of him, in time . . . 

“We scarcely heard the cheerin’, or saw the 
French tearin’ each other’s neckerchiefs for joy 
as we passed through ’em. We stood on the 
sidewalk, huddled up like sheep, starin’ at one 
another, an’ saying nothin’. Finally, some one 
sent the wounded to the trolley cars an’ towed 
the rest of us into side-streets, away from the 
grins. Cornin’ on a little, lonesome cafe there, 
we went in. 

“Will I ever forget that picture? Twenty 
sailormen scrouched down in twenty iron chairs. 
An’ Patrick, lyin’ out on a marble table, 
with a cold towel fitted over his nose. An’ 
Percy, sittin’ up on another table, with his 
head tipped, lookin’ into the air, more than 

[135] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

interested, as if he saw his five thousand francs 
just fadin’ two points off the end of his ciga- 
rette. 

“The conversation, too. So spirited! Some 
one would say, as if at a wake: 

“ ‘Well, they were the best the Fleet afforded.’ 
Then we’d have ten minutes slow breathin’. 
Then some one would add: 

“‘An’ a Frenchman! Which makes us look 
good, I suppose, up an’ down the Mediterranean, 
with two thousand British sailormen at Malta, 
an’ a British army at Gib.’ After considerin’ 
that for ten minutes, the Flagship carpenter’s 
mate, clearin’ his throat, remarks : 

“ ‘Fellas, with your permission I’ll cuss a lit- 
tle, we bein’ all friends here.’ He did so. It 
helped some, but only temporarily. 

“Presently Percy speaks up. 

“ ‘Boys,’ he says, ‘I won’t believe that it’s over 
yet. Think of another name.’ 

“‘Why, Jim Jeffries,’ says someone, with a 
sickly laugh. 

“ ‘No need goin’ outside the Service on that 
course,’ says I, not thinkin’. ‘Tom Whalen, 
back in New York, was a sailorman once.’ 

“Next thing I knew, Percy was on his feet, 
starin’ at me. 

[136] 


THE BIG ONE 

“ ‘Horace,’ he whispers, ‘speak that name 
again!’ 

“ ‘Not know Tom Whalen!’ I says, misunder- 
standin’. ‘Ain’t ever read the sportin’ page? 
Never in Whalen’s place, on Fourteenth Street, 
an’ you a New Yorker — ’ 

“Percy snatched out his watch. 

“ ‘Ten thirty, now,’ says he, ‘an’ the bet holds 
good till midnight. Mates,’ he cries, ‘we’ll do it 
yet. I’m off ! But never fail to meet me,’ he 
says, ‘in front o’ that theayter at five minutes 
to twelve. You two I want,’ says he, snatchin’ 
at me an’ Patrick. An’ he drags us after him, 
out through the door. Next I knew, the 
three of us, all out o’ breath, were in a ba- 
rouche, behind a horse runnin’ away up 
Rue Massena. 

“The rest comes foggy,” continued Shorty, 
after a moment’s thought, “like pictures on a 
screen. Sometimes I’d think I dreamt it, — if it 
wasn’t for Patrick here . . . 

“There was one bit, where we fell out o’ 
that barouche beside a big, whitish hotel all 
dressed with lights an’ palm trees. An’ peo- 
ple runnin’ here an’ there in the dark. An’ 
Percy shakin’ first one an’ then another, 
yellin’ : 

[* 37 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“ ‘My car! My car! My driver! My 
driver!’ 

“ ‘Crazy in the head,’ says I, taggin’ close 
after him, expectin’ every minute to catch him 
frothin’. 

“Presently, he grabs hold of a little chauffeur 
all got up in leather. 

“ ‘Where’s the car!’ he yells in this little guy’s 
ear, shakin’ him somethin’ turrible. ‘Don’t tell 
me that it’s apart again, an’ you with a widowed 
mother to support at home! After it quick, if 
you plan on livin’ a minute!’ 

“Next picture — 

“The four of us, in a great, fat, screechin’ auto- 
mobile, leavin’ the town, chasin’ a searchlight 
path, among trees an’ fences that slung ’emselves 
at us out o’ the dark in a way to make your 
stummick crawl. 

“‘The Saints look down!’ I heard Patrick 
murmurin’ to himself, as he sat beside me. 
‘We’re all dead men. Where to, — that is, before 
the flag-draped funeral gratin’?’ 

“ ‘To Monte Carlo!’ sings out Percy from the 
front seat. ‘Oh, boys!’ he cries, ‘don’t you know 
that Thomas Whalen himself half broke the 
bank there yesterday?’ 

“At last, I tumbled. Till then, I’d just ad- 

[138] 


THE BIG ONE 

mired Percy’s money; but right there I got stuck 
on Percy for himself. 

“However, that one trip’ll do me; I’m willin’ 
to call it my whole automobile career. I’m 
not particular to tune any harps just yet, but 
give me for mine a torpedo boat ridin’ a winter 
blow in mid-Atlantic, with the engines broke, 
an’ everythin’ cut loose an’ thrashin’ about, an’ 
the next ship over the skyline. I’ll take my 
chance on her, but never again with Percy an’ 
his careless-cart. Next day I picked out three 
gray hairs. An’ when I sneaked up behind 
Patrick on the gun-deck, an’ just casu’lly said: 
‘Honk! Honk!’ he turned like a flash, with a 
shout o’ fright, an’ chased me upside down into 
the office. Yep. Once behind Percy satisfied 
us, all right. 

“I’m no guide-book, so if the streaks I saw 
that night were scenery, let ’em go undescribed. 
We never noticed a town till we were through 
it, — an’ three we split up the back that I 
know of. Then, at last, we came curvin’ 
round beside the sea, toward a swath o’ 
lights spread out ahead like a dressed fleet 
at Oyster Bay. It was Monte Carlo. So, 
picture three — 

“We stopped that machine before a peach of 

[ I 39] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

a place. Gardens, fountains, statuary, lights 
winkin’, music playin’ smooth an’ soft — ” 

“The Casino!” 

“Take the money. The Casino it was. Percy 
had dove inside, the moment we’d slowed down. 
An’ I saw a lighted clock. It was eleven- 
three ! 

“After hours, it seemed like, we caught sight 
of him, leadin’ some one out — a youman house, 
crowdin’ the door, pushin’ his chest a foot in 
front of him. That moment! It was Whalen. 
It was the Big One. 

“Cornin’ down the steps, the Big One says, 
almost fretfully: 

“ ‘I take it unkindly,’ he says. ‘I was winnin’ 
big. I was tearin’ the bank apart. My very 
seat at the table was worth five hundred francs. 
An’ here you come, snatchin’ the bread out o’ 
my mouth.’ 

“ ‘Thomas,’ says Percy, leanin’ on him im- 
plorin’ly, ‘that Frenchman has licked our Fleet. 
Four fine, big boys we put up against him, an’, 
takin’ ’em one by one, he kicked the stuffin’ out 
of ’em. All Nice is laughin’ at the Navy, 
Thomas. How will we go back an’ tell it to the 
girls at home, on Fourteenth Street, amongst the 
artificial palms?’ ” 

[140] 


THE BIG ONE 

“Ah!” Patrick interjected, “the gifted tongue 
he had, wid that one touch!” 

Said Shorty: 

“The Big One hangs tremblin’. Then: 

“ ‘Give room, there!’ he shouts, climbs aboard, 
an’ drives himself in between us. ‘Hit it up!’ 
he calls down the little chauffeur’s neck. An’ — 
brrrupp ! — off we go from a standstill, home- 
bound, with a roar like the quick-fire guns 
breakin’ loose . . . 

“An’ when, lacking just three minutes o’ mid- 
night, we slid to a stop before that theayter! 

“We’d made a necessary little toilet on the 
way: the Big One had on Patrick’s uniform, 
while Patrick, in exchange, had on some o’ the 
Big One’s, to keep him in countenance. At that 
— an’ this lad’s no shrimp, you know — the Big 
One had split Patrick’s overshirt across the 
shoulders: so that his chest, with the full-rigged 
ship tattooed, sticks out, for all to see. An’ that 
same full-rigged ship was the first thing our 
boys on the sidewalk recognized, when we piled 
out. By that alone they knew; they didn’t have 
to see his face ; an’ I think the yell must ’a’ been 
heard on board. 

“The house was packed; we could hardly get 
him down in front. We saw him climb up on 

[14O 


10 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

the stage, rubbin’ his arms, like ol’ times. 
M’soo Patout came out for the last go, to earn 
his roll, smilin’ an’ blazay, as much as to 
say: ‘ Must I go through with this foolishness 
.again?’ . . . 

“The little, whiskery guy, just as before, grins, 
an’ says, ‘Ally!’ an’ steps back. 

“M’soo Patout advances in a deathly silence. 
He makes a bluff with one hand. Then, all of a 
sudden, he kicks the Big One a murderin’ blow 
up in the jaw. 

“The Big One almost cracked a laugh. 
Never puttin’ up his arms at all, he stands 
lookin’ at M’soo Patout as if he was a curiosity. 
Then he says, kind o’ tickled — every one heard 
him: you could ’a’ heard a fly eatin’ his dinner: 

“ ‘Well,’ he says, musin’ly, ‘you cute son-of- 
a-gun !’ 

“M’soo Patout looks vexed. Quick as a flash, 
droppin’ on his hands, he lands two more with 
his feet: one in the ribs an’ one on the belt. The 
Big One just jarred a little, — oh, scarcely 
noticeable. But he stopped lookin’ pleasant. 

“An’ then, as M’soo Patout was risin’, prob- 
’ly with the intention o’ viewin’ the body an’ 
takin’ the applause, some one just naturally 
turned out the lights on him. There was a very 
[142] 



“He never hesitated there to pick anythin’ for his button-hole. 
He went right on through.” 














THE BIG ONE 

pretty back-scene to that stage: a mossy dell, if 
I remember. M’soo Patout never hesitated 
there to pick anythin’ for his buttonhole. He 
went right on through. 

“An’, to tell the truth, what with the excite- 
ment, an’ the noise, an’ the dust that followed, I 
forget the rest. 

“Except cornin’ up the port ladder at day- 
light, very cautious, like a tightrope walker, 
with Percy’s white flannel coat on, an’ my over- 
shirt pocket full o’ champagne corks, an’ wearin’ 
a brown derby hat sumptuously marked inside, 
in gold letters: ( T. W.’ 

“Which stands for ‘Thomas Whalen,’ don’t it, 
from Nice to Fourteenth Street, Manhattan?” 


[143] 


VI 

THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

I NTO the silence was thrust the clatter 
of the telephone bell. Delusions of place 
and time, thoughts in forming, were shattered 
by that sound. Noises of other, actual things, as 
if set going by this one, crowded in: exhaust of 
steam and clash of coupling freight cars far 
below my open windows, the thud of evening 
traffic beyond them on the water, all the count- 
less, muffled rumors of the city’s upper riverside 
at night. Then, with these sounds for an ac- 
companiment, across some miles of looped wire 
sang a small, clear voice: 

“Is it you? Good landfall! I took a chance, 
you see. It’s me, you know — Patrick.” 

“Patrick!” At that name, long unheard, at 
once I felt the imminence of unusual associa- 
tions, delightfully jovial and salty, restored 

[144] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

from oversea and containing I could guess what 
treasures of strange experience. And no doubt 
my pleasure was apparent in my exclamation, 
for that voice became suddenly embarrassed in 
its tone, as if its owner felt and did not know 
what to do with some unexpected compliment. 

“Ah, now — we’re barely in; that is, I am. 
An’ seein’ I’m just after happenin’ on Shorty 
here — ” 

“Shorty? You’d lost him then?” 

“Ah, I’d forgot you hadn’t heard — or seen. 
Yes, I’ve found him. But I’m not quite used to 
him as yet. I could near cry, just lookin’ at 
him.” 

“He’s not been laid up!” 

“No, not that. Nor yet what else you’re 
prob’ly thinkin’ now. But — Where can I 
show him to you?” 

“Can you come here?” 

“What’s that? This squeegee band in this 
place makes so much — Ah! Well, now, if 
you wish ...” 

“Get out at the express station and walk west 
till you come to a parapet across the end of the 
street. It’s the last house, next to the river. 
How soon?” 

“You’ll see. Express station, parapet — cut it 

[145] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

out now, you; nothin’ o’ your looks ’ll talk to 
him on my five cents!” 

The wires clicked and were silent, leaving me, 
on one good friend’s account, uneasy. So, with 
relief I heard, scarcely half an hour later, the 
elevator gate outside my door clash shut. Im- 
mediately Patrick’s blue shoulders filled the 
entry. 

Big, homely, and smiling, ruddy, sandy, and 
neat in liberty blue, Patrick at least was the 
unimpaired duplicate of my familiar mental 
picture of him. Therefore, even while I caught 
his hand, my eyes, satisfied with him, turned 
past his face, searching for Shorty and his ail- 
ment. For a moment, I did not know him. 

In that figure, vivid beneath the entry light, 
there was, at first glance, nothing of the jaunty 
sailorman whom I had known. A derby hat 
sat on his head; stiff worsted, casually fitted, dis- 
figured his well-set body; a shiny collar and a 
too-festive cravat strangled his brown neck. He 
was, indeed, all strange except his face, which, 
at my stare, turned confused and then defiant. 

The three of us in chairs, tobacco jars open 
and glasses near, I asked : 

“So you went back on the Service?” 

“Out three months,” he said, abruptly. 

[i 4 6] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

“Why?” 

“I was in eight years,” he cried, his voice 
going suddenly flat and loud. “Eight years, 
mind you, first under the lid of a stew-pan of a 
monitor, then wearin’ out linoleum with these 
feet up an’ down the Oklahoma gun-deck. That’s 
nothin’, I suppose? Eight years o’ buckets an’ 
brass-rags an’ scrubbin’-brushes, Shorty here an’ 
Shorty there, jump to the pipe an’ be hanged 
to you! Have me spend my life at it? Oh, 
sure; oh, certainly; in a minute!” 

“What’s your term, Patrick?” I asked. 

“Third,” replied that one steadily. “Goin’ on 
ten years. I saw the ship when she was bare red 
steel all over ... an’ myself a kid that could 
hardly keep the bells straight in my head, or 
lock a breech in quick practise to suit a chief 
gunner’s mate — much less thinkin’ I’d ever be 
one myself. Which I will, come November. 
Ten years! But for that, I’m not so sick of her 
she ain’t got to go some, down or up — That 
is — Ha! That's hot air, hey? I hope I ain’t 
made a show o’ myself?” 

“Don’t worry. Shorty, what plans have you?” 

“Steel shop. Joinin’ the union next week. I 
was beginnin’ there before I shipped. There’s 
good money — ” 


[147] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

Encountering Patrick’s calm stare, he stopped, 
fished hurriedly in his pockets for tobacco, 
made, in his uneasiness, a travesty of his usual 
faultless cigarette. Then I saw, on the con- 
gested little finger of his left hand, a narrow 
ring set with a blue stone — a ring such as young 
girls wear. Patrick’s glance caught mine. For 
a moment, then, I read in that honest Irish face 
dumb wonder, perhaps dumb grief: a mute 
comment on the infirmity of friendship in such 
a case as this. 

That there was nothing but discomfort for us 
all in further attention to this phenomenon, 
Patrick and I, by look, observed together. So 
we began to talk at large, with speech which 
flagged sadly for a while. But presently, with 
Shorty as silent as if he were the outsider that 
he looked, we drifted from talk of land and sea 
at large to sea-talk in particular, swung from 
impersonal affairs to personal, and, narrowing 
always toward one subject, at last inevitably 
reached the Oklahoma . 

From Patrick I heard then all the past 
months’ news. I learned the intimate bits of a 
tropical, correctory voyage ; a rifle and bayonet 
season, of camps in stone plazas, and sentry duty 
under rustling, barred windows. And besides 
[i 4 8] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

these bits, thrust through the daily monotony of 
work which almost did itself from habit, were 
rare breaks. I heard how, in the Banks fog, 
when the Bridge had mixed the siren signals of 
her consorts just a minute, fear had frozen the 
great battleship. And there, unconscious of his 
achievement, Patrick, with a few words, raised 
up that scene for me all vivid: the keen bow of 
a misdirected cruiser flashing out from the mist, 
hanging for a moment overhead, then passing 
by, scraping and splintering, astern. I heard of 
a duel disguised as sport; a glove-fight, on the 
foc’s’l deck, that ended, in its last round, a feud 
of long standing begun romantically as far 
away as Yokohama Bund. And there were 
other, lighter subjects. There had been a 
barber’s boycott on the gun-deck, with hilarious 
details. There had been a Quartermaster with 
an oversweet shore smile. The material, it 
seemed, was endless. Patrick was finishing with 
the Quartermaster: 

“You see, one thing he should ’a’ kept in mind 
for his best good: mashers ain’t encouraged so 
horribly effusive in those thropical parts. There’s 
usually a jumpy, short-tempered relation to the 
lady holdin’ up a wall just round the corner, 
an’ all you’ve got to do is wink to find out if 

[149] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 


you ain’t his pincushion. For me, I look on 
the map where I am, nowadays, before I let my 
face slip on the beach.” 

“True Oriental caution! Were you ever — 
you must have been — in a Mohammedan city? 
Of course! There’s Tangier — ” 

“Tangier?” Shorty sat up. 

“Tangier?” repeated Patrick slowly, ignoring 
Shorty’s glance. “I don’t just remember — ” 
“What! You’re losin’ your mind!” snapped 
Shorty. “Don’t remember that evenin’ in Tan- 
gier with the French Ambassadd?” 

“Ah. ' I’m gettin’ somethin’ of it now. Let’s 
see. . . . He won’t have heard that one? I 
wonder if I could go through wid it prop- 
erly?” 

“You!” from Shorty, snatching up tobacco 
and cigarette papers. “You leave that alone. 
That’s a good one, which I ain’t goin’ to see 
slaughtered. I’ll tell it myself, if told it must 
be; then I’m not afraid we’ll get it shoved at us 
butt end foremost, with the introduction trailin’ 
in last, pretendin’ to be the point — ” 

Lighting his cigarette, he did not see the 
triumphant smile that Patrick flashed at me. 
Shorty, at last beguiled and all unconscious of 
it, slid down in his chair and presently, his 

[150] 


\ 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

features softened and made vaguely mischievous 
by reminiscence, so began : 

“Omittin’ everythin’ unnecessary, I’ll com- 
mence with Patrick an’ me playin’ pool under 
the Hotel Continental, in Tangier, early of an 
evenin’. 

“There was a young guy in a tourist suit, 
from Kalamazoo, settin’ up on the spectator’s 
platform, poisonin’ the air with those Spikidie 
cigarettes they get foreigners to fall for in 
Gibraltar. He was tellin’ us what we were 
missin’ by stayin’ in a billiard-parlor when we 
might be enjoyin’ Oriental scenery up an’ down 
Tangier. 

“ ‘This ain’t the way to see the world,’ he says. 
‘Squanderin’ the precious hours lollin’ across a 
pool-table!’ 

“ ‘Why,’ I says, lookin’ up at him over a drink 
like I was about four years old, ‘what is there to 
see hereabouts, in particular?’ 

“‘Heavens!’ he says. ‘Heavens! How be- 
nighted! You’ve missed the Call to Prayers , 1 
he says, ‘but there’s still an’ evenin’ service in the 
mosque, an’ there’s always that cafe where you 
can see the natives drinkin’ tea.’ 

“Say, lookin’ at that guy, I was sorry for him; 
the poor fella was just half alive. The evenin’ 
[i5i] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

service an’ the natives drinkin’ tea! Says I to 
him, pityin’ly: 

“ ‘Claude,’ I says, ‘attend to me now, while 
I tell you somethin’. What you’re talkin’ of 
ain’t scenery. You’ve got the wrong word. A 
native drinkin’ tea ain’t scenery. There ain’t a 
speck o’ pure scenery in this town as she stands 
now, an’ won’t be till towards nine o’clock, when 
I calculate I an’ my friend here will be ready 
to go out an’ make some. Good-lookin’ scenery, 
Claude, has to be manufactured just so, as you’ll 
see if you hang around. When it’s all done, if 
you’re not dead or dyin’, you’ll have an edu- 
cation.’ 

“Well, what I said turned out correct: towards 
nine o’clock we weren’t anythin’ if not ready. 
Harah an’ Licks, off the ship, had found us in 
the billiard-parlor, an’ we’d taken on a nice 
little fella named Ballory, off a British de- 
stroyer lyin’ in the harbor. That is, he was a 
nice little fellow till he lost his mind, which he 
did later in the evenin’, as I’ll explain. 

“By nine o’clock that billiard-parlor was a 
show. Harah an’ Patrick an’ the Britisher were 
doin’ a three-cornered bayonet duel with cues 
all over the place, an’ Licks an’ I were flouncin’ 
up an’ down the spectators’ platform, singin’ : 

[’152] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 


“ ‘We are the Broad-way Girls! 

With the naughty! sporty! curls! 

Hie! Tie! Diddle-dee die — ■ 

hunchin’ up our shoulders an 5 shakin’ our fin- 
gers in front of our faces an’ pretendin’ to flip 
up our skirts in back. They came downstairs 
in force an’ fired the bunch of us out on the 
street, makin’ no distinction at all in favor o’ the 
guy from Kalamazoo, who’d had eight lemon- 
ades o’ my countin’, wherever he’d put ’em! 

“While we were standin’ in the street, be- 
tween half a dozen plans, that little Ballory says, 
all at once: 

“ ‘Mates,’ he says, gigglin’, ‘while only five 
steps off, let me show you the fort this town’s 
got. It’s a lovely affair; when I go aboard I’m 
goin’ to swipe a service revolver off the armorer 
an’ sneak back in a small boat an’ just lit’rally 
blow it out o’ the ground with five shots. This 
way,’ says he, slidin’ down a flight o’ stone steps 
on the back of his neck. ‘The crafty devils!’ 
he says, gettin’ up. ‘They’ve changed this place 
around since I came up, or that wouldn’t ’a’ hap- 
pened. But there she lies, anyhow. That’s a 
fort you’re lookin’ at. Ain’t it a sweet one? ’ 

“All I saw was a masonry wall with a row 

[153] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

o’ cannons on it pointin’ out to sea. But on the 
wall, with his back to us, leanin’ over a cannon 
an’ lookin’ off in the twilight, I saw a little card 
in a Prince Albert frock coat an’ a high gaff 
topsail; you know, — a silk hat. I may as well 
tell you now, who should he turn out to be, but 
the French Ambassadd.” 

“Ambassadd?” I repeated. “You mean Am- 
bassador?” 

“He was the French Ambassadd,” replied 
Shorty, calmly. 

“But, Shorty, there’s no French Ambassador 
at Tangier — ” 

“He was the French Ambassadd,” Shorty re- 
torted. 

“I beg your pardon, then.” 

“Granted. He was the French Ambassadd. 
We all saw him; an’ somehow he looked so 
dinky, leanin’ over the cannon in those clothes, 
he tickled us. All except that little Ballory. 

“ Why, there he is,’ hisses Ballory, frownin’ 
towards the high gaff topsail most ferocious. 
‘There’s the bloomin’, funny-minded bride- 
groom moved the steps on me. I can see his 
shoulders shakin’ from here; darned if he ain’t 
laughin’ at me behind his back!’ 

“‘Have sense!’ says Patrick to him like a 

[154] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

father. ‘That fella’s all right; he hasn’t done 
anythin’ to you. He don’t even know we’re here. 
He’s meditatin’.’ 

“ ‘I don’t like him,’ says little Ballory, glarin’ 
at the guy. ‘One thing, his hat don’t fit him. 
It’s too big for him. I bet he stole it. He’s a 
thief, that’s what he is. Why, I’ll prove it 
to you.’ 

“Before any one thought to stop him, he goes 
sneakin’ up behind the guy, on tiptoes, with hjs 
knees out. An’ all at once, reachin’ out an’ takin’ 
tight hold of the guy’s hat brim, he gives a tur- 
rible jerk down on it. 

“ ‘What’d I say!’ yells Ballory, jumpin’ back 
with a triumphant gesture. Would you believe 
it, the guy’s head had disappeared clean into 
his hat! 

“Well, Patrick an’ I fell into each other’s 
arms an’ howled. We shouldn’t ’a’ done that, 
though; for while we were so, dingin’ to each 
other, too weak to waggle a finger, Licks an’ 
Harah an’ that little Ballory an’ the Kalamazoo 
tourist were makin’ the quickest get-away of 
their lives, up the stone steps an’ into parts un- 
known. When we came to our senses, we were 
all alone with the Prince Albert guy, an’ he was 
waltzin’ about like a top, cussin’ into his hat an’ 
[iS5] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

tryin’ to get it off. All at once, off it came in 
two pieces, an’ he saw us — Patrick an’ I — 
leanin’ up against each other. The next I knew, 
he was chasin’ us through a strange street, 
roarin’ like a hungry tiger. 

“ ‘Patrick,’ I says to him, between jumps, ‘I’ve 
already had my activity to-day, aboard ship.’ 

“ ‘Keep goin’,’ says Patrick. ‘I’m suspicious 
that he’s important in these parts, with those 
clothes an’ all. He’ll make us trouble if he gets 
a good look at us. We must escape him. Hit 
it up.’ 

“We did so, but we couldn’t lose him any 
more than if we were towin’ him. We went 
boundin’, full speed, through alleys, bowlin’ 
over stray natives an’ hurdlin’ donkeys, till little 
Shorty, for one, was to his last gasp. Just 
then we saw, ahead, a little sign stickin’ out 
from a house-front, an’ on the sign, in English: 
‘Curiosities.’ 

“We took the entry at one leap an’ slammed 
an’ locked the door, just as the Prince Albert 
guy fired himself against it. There wasn’t but 
one other soul in the place: a little, fat, civilized 
man, who came rushin’ for’d. 

“ ‘Now, then,’ he cries out, ‘what’s all this?’ 

“ ‘Friend,’ I wheezes, solemnly puttin’ one 

[156] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

hand on my heart an’ takin’ a chance. ‘In the 
name o’ Mister Roosevelt — ’ 

“He peeks out of a little window. 

“‘Why, you maniacs!’ he says, grinnin’ an’ 
hangin’ somethin’ over the pane. ‘If it ain’t 
the French Ambassadd!’ 

“ ‘You come with me,’ he says, an’ leads us 
back to a dingy bedroom, like, stuffed full o’ 
the overflow from the shop, with a door at the 
rear. 

“ ‘There’s an alley outside,’ he says. ‘Watch 
your chance an’ vanish, whilst I parley with 
the Ambassadd through the front. But first,’ 
he says, findin’ three glasses an’ a bottle, ‘here’s 
a little bit to the American navy in distress, 
which ain’t often.’ 

“ ‘An’ here’s another little bit,’ says Patrick, 
as if he owned the bottle himself, ‘to our gallant 
rescuer.’ 

“ ‘An’ here,’ says I, not to be outdone in 
hospitality by any one, ‘is another yet, to hot- 
footed, hell-roarin’ M’soo Gaston Crosspatch, 
the hat-thief — need I say, gents, to whom I 
refer?’ 

“The proprietor says good-by with feelin’, 
an’ goes through the shop to hold parley, walkin’ 
on air. We opened the back an’ rubbered out. 

[ 157 ] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

Well, you could ’a’ knocked us over when we 
found the escape from the alley was by the front 
o’ the house, where the French Ambassadd was 
carryin’ on! 

“ ‘Why,’ says Patrick, cornin’ in an’ closin’ the 
door, ‘we’re bottled up! We’ll never get past 
him without his seein’ us!’ 

“ ‘Keep your shirt on,’ I says, lookin’ round. 
Then, whether it was the three toasts gettin’ to 
work, or what, a great big, life-size, dazzlin’ 
roos de guerre hits me between the eyes. 

“ ‘Patrick,’ I cries, ‘we’ll go disguised!’ 

“ ‘Disguised!’ sneers Patrick, with a scornful 
laugh. 

“‘That’s what! Why, look here; don’t tell 
me you haven’t noticed all the fat, haughty, 
stingy-minded ladies in this town, trottin’ round 
wrapped up in sheets an’ holdin’ the tails of 
their skirts across their noses? Look here!’ 

“I make a swipe at the bed an’ drag off a 
blanket an’ two pillows. One pillow I stick in 
the front o’ my waist-band, the other down 
the back. I climb inside the blanket, wrap it 
round me an’ over my head, an’, catchin’ up the 
end of it in one hand, I hold it over my face 
so that all you could see o’ me was my two 
eyes. 

[158] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

“ ‘Now, then,’ I says, ‘I suppose that’s poor? 
Who am I, stranger, kindly tell?’ 

“Patrick walked round, lookin’ at me from all 
sides. Then he begun to grin. 

“ ‘Well, if you ain’t, weight an’ all!’ he says. 
‘All except the shoes, Shorty.’ 

“I kicked off my shoes, rolled up my pants to 
the knees, an’ pulled a pair o’ flat, yellow slip- 
pers out o’ the stock piled up in the corner. 

“ ‘Why,’ I says, ‘here’s everythin’ at hand, as 
if made for us! An’ look at this box o’ brass 
bracelets !’ 

“I get into the slippers, snap the bracelets 
on my ankles, an’ sail across the room, with the 
end o’ the blanket over my face, clankin’ an’ 
switchin’ my pillows till Patrick had to sit down 
on the bed with tears runnin off his nose. 

“ ‘Save us,’ he gasps. ‘It’s perfect!’ 

“ ‘Well, then,’ I says, ‘get busy, will you? 
There’s another blanket yet, an’ if you run short 
o’ pillows, pad with somethin’ else; for you’re 
no kind of a lady in these parts, I take it, unless 
you’re in the baby elephant class.’ 

“Say, I wish some one with a sense o’ youmor 
could ’a’ seen us when we came out. There 
wasn’t a choice between us for looks, both bein’ 
equally plump, and covered up, an’ decorated 

[159] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

with noisy Morocco jewelry. We wafts up the 
alley, showin’ nothin’ but eyes an’ ankles, which, 
you’ll know, is considered the best o’ good man- 
ners thereabouts. An’ sailin’ grandly round the 
corner, like a pair o’ balloons, we ran across 
the French Ambassadd, ravin’ through the key- 
hole, an’ a bunch o’ natives, standin’ behind him, 
tappin’ their foreheads. 

“We brushed through the crowd in the most 
ladylike way you can think of, an’ floated up 
the street. Around a dark corner we stopped an’ 
shook hands. 

“Says Patrick, right away: 

“ We’d best keep movin’, Shorty; our liberty 
must be nearly up, an’ all these costumes must 
be returned in good order—’ 

“ ‘Goin’!’ I cried out, indignantly. When it’s 
just gettin’ good?’ 

“I had a look round the corner. The Ambas- 
sadd was nowhere; the crowd was leavin’. I 
saw that the curiosity man had let him in, so 
as he could satisfy himself we weren’t there. 

“ ‘Then he’ll be out in a minute, Patrick,’ I 
said. ‘An’ we’ll just march by once again for 
good luck.’ 

“Sure enough*. I’d scarcely said it when 
forth he comes an’ sets out, stampin’, towards us. 
[160] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

With that, blowin’ out of our alley, we bear 
down on him. But the street was narrow for 
three, an’ just as we passed him, with our 
noses in the air an’ all covered up, Patrick 
got the Ambassadd’s shoulder in the chest. 
Immediately, bein’ Irish, he mislaid his 
temper. 

“ ‘Where you goin’!’ he snaps through the end 
of his blanket, as if he was about to take Gaston 
at one bite. ‘Bumpin’ that way into a decent 
married woman ! Loafer !’ 

“I dragged Patrick away, leavin’ the French 
Ambassadd with his chin hangin’ down. 

“‘Nice native lady you are!’ I says, jerkin’ 
him along at a trot. ‘Blackguardin’ a stranger in 
a bass voice, with a brogue! Beat it! He’s 
after us again! Now, you see, for that we’ve 
got it all to do over.’ 

“That’s right, he was hot after us, an’ no 
mistake. I think once or twice we might ’a’ 
lost him in the dark, but with our bangles we 
made a racket like a couple of sleighs. Still, he 
was always just a cable-len’th behind; an’, d’you 
know, I could ’a’ begun to enjoy it till he started 
yellin’. 

“‘Patrick,’ I says, ‘I suspect that’s French or 
Tangier for “Stop thief.” What’s more, I’m a 
[161] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

slipper shy. It’s got to end. Former tactics, 
now: dive in wherever you see an openin’, an’ 
trust to luck.’ 

“Next minute we turned a corner an’ saw an 
openin’. It was the door of a cafe, like as not 
where our Kalamazoo friend was urgin’ us to 
go an’ see the natives drinkin’ tea. In we dived, 
knockin’ over a coon with a trayful o’ coffee 
cups, through a little hall with a flight o’ steps 
at the back. We took those steps three together. 
On the second floor was another flight. We took 
them four together, an’ popped out through an 
open trap-door onto the roof. We shut the hatch 
an’ sat on it to breathe. 

“ ‘Have we lost him?’ says Patrick, layin’ his 
ear to the trap-door. 

“‘Him!’ I says. ‘Don’t you know him yet? 
No, Patrick, we’ve not even begun to lose him. 
You’ll hear him in just a minute poundin’ on the 
underneath o’ where you’re sittin’.’ 

“Sure enough, some one began to beat on the 
bottom o’ the trap-door. So, leavin’ Patrick to 
hold it tight, I skips off to the next roof. Three 
roofs down I found a loose hatch. Racin’ back 
to Patrick, I told him. 

“ ‘He’s stopped to get his wind,’ says Patrick, 
swallowin’ hard; ‘but he’s had me rockin’ on 
[162] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

this thing like a dingey in a typhoon. He’s 
makin’ me seasick, the little shrimp!’ 

“ ‘Come on, then,’ says I. ‘An’ keep your 
sleigh-bells quiet.’ 

“We dodged across the roofs to the open trap 
an’ into it. You can search me how we ever had 
the nerve to do that — down a dark hole, into a 
strange place, on the chance ! We were no better 
than housebreakers — an’ in such a town! There 
might ’a’ been guys with swords an’ long Ori- 
ental blunderbusses waitin’ for us below, just 
dyin’ for the pleasure. Would you believe it, 
we never thought o’ that. 

“We got down the ladder into a room with 
a tiny red lamp hangin’ from the ceilin’. The 
ceilin’ was all pinched up into patterns — knobs 
stickin’ out all over; somethin’ new to me. But 
the room itself! There were so many lookin’- 
glasses, an’ shiny stools, an’ plants in jugs, an’ 
rugs, an’ sofa pillows, you hardly dared to move, 
for fear o’ knockin’ somethin’ over. It looked 
so swell, Patrick got scared. 

“ ‘Get a move on!’ he says, in a rattlin’ whis- 
per. ‘This is no place for us.’ 

“As for me, all at once the hot room begun to 
go to my head. 

“ ‘Forget it!’ I says, commencin’ to enjoy my- 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

self. Why, this is rich! This takes me back to 
that Turkish joint in Fourteenth Street — only 
better. Mind if I take off my blanket; it’s a 
little stuffy, as you say. Ain’t you drowsy in 
this place? I could use some o’ those fat sofa 
pillows to advantage. What! Do my eyes de- 
ceive me, or can that be a lunch!’ 

“On a little stool I saw a tray, an’ on the tray 
was laid out a lot o’ grub. I just couldn’t con- 
tain myself; I dived in after it with both hands. 

“‘Holy!’ cries Patrick frantic’lly, grabbin’ 
me back. What shall I do with you? That 
stuff’s hot; it’s just been laid there for some one.’ 

“ ‘You’re crazy,’ I says, with my mouth full. 
‘They were expectin’ us. Don’t be a dope ; catch 
hold o’ some. Don’t you like onions? Here’s 
Irish stew, it tastes like; you’ll fall for that, I 
hope. Find me the salt, then, if you won’t eat 
anythin’.’ 

“ ‘We’re dead men,’ groans Patrick, an’, 
gettin’ a half-Nelson on me, he drags me back 
for the ladder. I’ve a suspicion, what with the 
two of us rockin’ about, we must ’a’ started quite 
a little noise. At any rate, suddenly somethin’ 
made us both stop an’ turn around. An’ there, 
crowded into a doorway an’ gapin’ at us horror- 
struck, were four tremendous dames. 

[164] 


“Gapin’ at us horror-struck were four tremendous dames.” 



THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

“Those four tremendous dames took one look 
an’ screeched. Gee, how they could screech! 
An’ with that, away they went, head over heels, 
screechin’ continu’lly. 

“Well, things moved quick. The whole house 
below wakes up with a roar. Patrick jumps for 
the ladder; but me for some curtains on the wall, 
for I had a hunch. Sure thing: there was a 
window behind ’em, barred over with wooden 
stuff, which I jerked into the room. 

“ ‘This way’s safe out, Patrick,’ I yells to him, 
an’ he comes on the run from the ladder. 

“ ‘He’s in sight,’ says he, with a wild laugh. 

“ ‘Who?’ I asked, makin’ the blankets fast 
together an’ throwin’ one end out o’ the win- 
dow. 

“ ‘The Ambassadd,’ says Patrick. ‘He saw me 
stick my head out, an’ rushed for me across the 
roofs. Hist! Out with you, for they’re cornin’ 
upstairs.’ 

“ ‘Up them an’ down them both, then,’ says I, 
for I could see the Ambassadd’s legs gettin’ 
through the trap-door. There was a turrible 
trample outside, an’ I chucked myself through 
the window. I went down the blankets with 
Patrick on my shoulders. When we touched the 
street we ran, an’ ran, an’ ran. 

[165] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

“Finally, when we were miles away, a thought 
took me. I stopped runnin’. 

“ ‘Patrick,’ I says, ‘you were last out; tell me 
true, what was your partin’ glimpse?’ 

“ ‘Shorty,’ sobs Patrick, collapsin’ on me, ‘my 
partin’ glimpse was the French Ambassadd . . . 
havin’ just reached the foot o’ the ladder ... an’ 
somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen 
coons . . . about eight foot high . . . rushin’ at 
him with their mouths open . . . Shorty . . . 
I think we’ve shook him.’ ” 

After a while, breaking an appreciative si- 
lence, I ventured an inquiry about the youth 
from Kalamazoo. 

“Why,” Shorty told me, “I asked Harah that 
very same, next mornin’. Harah says : 

“ ‘We saw him last up on a water-trough in 
some camel stable, I should take it to be, doin’ 
that tremble-jelly dance for a mob o’ villagers. 
What! mean to say you didn’t hear a crash 
shortly after we parted at that fort? That was 
him, failin’ off the water-wagon. He’ll have far 
more scenery to write home than’ll go on a 
picture post-card this mornin’ — if he don’t com- 
mit suicide on wakin’ up, that is.’ 

“There was always fun in Harah. I’d like 
to see him. . . . ’Twas him — remember, Patrick? 
[166] 

V 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

— first read the flags that Fourth, off San- 
tiago?” 

“Read what?” I asked. And even Shorty, in 
answering, was sober, as one who repeats a 
phrase of history: 

“ ‘The Enemy is Cornin’ Out!’ 

“Mind how the ship lifted to that, Patrick? 
The racin’ all ways, the bugle goin’, the engines 
thumpin’ harder an’ harder underneath? Every 
one slappin’ backs an’ gallopin’ to battle stations 
an’ callin’: ‘There they are. See ’em? There 
they are!’ ” 

“The aft turret,” murmured Patrick, “wid 
every man’s heart poundin’ in his mouth for fear 
we’d miss our first shot at ’em. Do I remember? 
Z-z-zing! goes our ear-drums, an’ it was War 
at last!” 

“I betcha!” cried Shorty with glowing eyes, 
again in the turret crowded with naked men 
and shining steel, ringing from the terrific dis- 
charge, trembling from the rush of the great 
ship. 

The gleam faded from his eyes ; he sat looking 
before him dully. 

Then, on the silence, as if waiting for this mo- 
ment, stole through the open windows the clear 
striking of ships’ bells, first near, then farther, 

[167] 


SHORTY AND PATRICK 

then far, mingling in lucid harmony, exquisite 
in the night stillness. 

“Seven bells, ” whispered Shorty, and stared 
toward the window. 

We followed him across the room. With him 
we looked down on the river: on the lights of 
moving shipping weaving with shore lights 
vague, slowly changing patterns; on those other 
lights beyond them to the north, assembled, 
stationary, marking with pin-point groups five 
large, familiar outlines. 

“Well, I’m — ” 

“I thought you knew,” I said. 

“I didn’t think, when I came in, what with 
the fog in the end o’ the street.” 

“Do you place her?” 

“Second from here. Look, lights still on in 
the wardroom country — special doin’s to-night. 
There’s somethin’ movin’ aft there — oh, the 
anchor watch? There’s a light at the starb’d 
gangway. A boat, hey? Visitors? Sst! The 
Ardoises are goin’ I” 

High above that second great bulk broke out 
suddenly a vertical string of lights, red and 
white, winking, rippling into brilliancy, vanish- 
ing, reappearing in swift variation. 

“Still! 2222, 2222; Z — that’s the Alaska's call- 

[168] 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOURIS 

letter. ‘Alaska — visitors’ — launch — mistaken — 
ship — possibly — off — your — gangway — kindly 
— ascertain — ’ It’s Ol’ Particular himself talk- 
in’. Ascertain’s his word, not to mention 
Perspicacity. Good OP Man. . . 

Staring down, his unguarded face turned 
wistful. We read his thoughts perfectly and, 
keeping silence, let him have them all: of past 
romance infinitely varied, of days and nights in 
settings homely and exotic, peaceful and tre- 
mendous. 

“She looks good, don’t she?” Shorty asked, 
uncertainly. 

“Ah, but Shorty,” answered a soft Irish 
voice, “I’m gettin’ lonesome out there.” 

If this was talk for both to blush at, and 
violently deny, in daylight and another place, 
neither seemed to realize that now. They stood 
looking down together at the lights. And pres- 
ently Shorty murmured: 

“You ol’ speckled seducer. You ol’ flannel- 
mouthed recruiter. . . .” 

His hand stole up and gently rumpled Pat- 
rick’s hair. 














DEC 22 1910 




















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One copy del. to Cat. Div. 


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